


Metal to Magic: First Year

by orphan_account



Series: Metal to Magic [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Crossover, Daniel & Simon (Detroit: Become Human) are Twins, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Lots of it, Magic, Minerva McGonagall is a badass still, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Tags May Change, and it shows, everyone's a wizard, multiple stories, no beta we die like men, none of this is anything like canon, the writer is a hot mess, yer a wizard Markus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Markus had never believed in magic. Not until he receives a letter from a prestigious wizarding school in Scotland, and he is forced to face the truth of the new fantastical world he finds himself in.Connor had been raised a pureblooded heir. Trained to become a Death Eater alongside his twin brother, his beliefs never wavering. Until he is sorted into the wrong house.[AKA: The DBH x HP crossover I never knew I needed until I started writing it]





	1. Twin Wands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just wanted to note that this fic, and the sequels to come, is not a Markus/Connor shipping fic. Both stories are entirely separate, with different arcs and trials for them to overcome. They'll interact with each other, but they definitely won't end up in love.
> 
> That's not to say that neither will be shipped with anybody, of course, just probably not until the fourth or fifth installment (they're children, of course) but again, they won't end up with each other. So if you're in it for the sweet, sweet Markus/Connor love, then I'm sorry to disappoint.

Wizard.

The word was printed all over the house. In the odd newspaper clippings that his twin brother had hung up, in the spells that his mother cast whenever she got bored, even in the way everyone around him spoke. Magic was everywhere in his life. In the house’s foundations, in the house-elves that took care of the home while their masters were busy.

Magic was another word, used in every second sentence, spoken about as if it were just another everyday thing, not something that all muggles seemed to fear. He and his brother used it, practiced it, honed their skills so that someday they could join the Dark Lord and live up to their purpose.

Pureblood.

A common phrase, used as praise whenever one of them did something right. A reminder not to stoop to the level of mudbloods and blood-traitors. To be pureblooded was a gift, one that many wizards sought after. They were dying out, his mother always said. He and his brother were some of the youngest, and some of the last in their city.

 _‘Cherish this blessing, boys.’_ His mother always said. _‘Live by the laws of the Dark Lord, and all of your greatest desires will become truth.’_

He didn’t believe her, of course. There was no way that his wishes could come true. It was impossible, even in the magical world they all lived in. Still, he would pledge his allegiance when the time came. The Dark Lord was, after all, the one who would save them from extinction.

His twin brother, however, hung onto their mother’s every word. He had already pledged himself to the Dark Lord, already promised that he would do everything to make sure they succeeded in culling the growing herd of mudbloods.

To be a mudblood or a blood-traitor was to be shunned. That was just how things worked. It was simple, and he liked it that way.

“Connor!” Conan’s voice broke into his thoughts as he thundered up the stairs into their shared room. “Wake up! Mother is taking us to Diagon Alley to pick out our robes in thirty minutes.”

Connor stared up at the roof, which was painted a rich green colour and covered in silvery snakes, coiling around and snapping at one-another. Green. A Slytherin colour. Slytherin, the only respectable Hogwarts house. According to his mother, and everyone around him. Still, why did it have to be green? Green was a disgusting colour, either too harsh and vibrant or sickly and pale.

Blue was much better. But Ravenclaws were cowards, hiding behind their knowledge and associating with mudbloods. Blood-traitors, the lot of them. It was a shame, really. Knowledge was power, and power was the most important part of life.

“Are you listening to me?” Conan peered down over him, his face blurry. “You have to get up, or you’re a blood-traitor!”

Connor glared at him and sat up. “You’re the blood-traitor.” He snapped half-heartedly, too tired to actually care about Conan’s insults.

Conan sat down on the edge of his own bed, on the other side of the room. There was a stark difference between the way the two brothers decorated their sides of the room. Connor had left his wall bare, apart from a few stray sketches and a stack of tomes leaning against it that contained knowledge of the wizarding world.

Conan’s wall was covered in newspaper clippings and photographs, the people moving around in the black-and-white pictures like it was the most natural thing in the world. There was also a glass bottle on his bedside table that contained the body of an embalmed Bowtruckle, because Conan had always been fascinated by the creatures.

Connor, on the other hand, would much rather them all burn with the trees they called home.

“I’m going downstairs.” Conan declared needlessly. He shot Connor one last glance, cold blue-grey eyes screaming _hurry up or mother will kill you._

Connor stood up, blinking the fuzz away from his vision, and grabbed the pile of clothes he had neatly folded beneath his bed. Another contrast between him and Conan was their clothes. Conan was all for extravagance, wearing the most expensive clothing money could buy, all in green and silver, and the odd bit of black here and there.

Connor wore monochrome, inconspicuous clothing. Always neat, prim, but never over-the-top like Conan. His mother disapproved, always urging him to be honoured by his magic ancestry and wear the colours of Slytherin with pride. Connor pointed out that it was much easier to blend in with the other wizards and gain their trust, which made it easier to determine which were blood-traitors or half-bloods and which were mudbloods, and who needed to be culled.

He’d always wanted to be more of a spy for the Dark Lord than anything else. While Conan wanted to be one of the most famous, well-known Death Eaters, showing his face and screaming his love for the Dark Lord from their rooftop, Connor would have much preferred staying in the shadows and doing undercover work. Sneaking around, quietly culling the herd while everybody was focused on the more ‘out-there’ Death Eaters.

He, after all, had a forgettable face. If it weren’t for Conan’s icy blue eyes, that could strike fear into the hearts of any muggle who crossed him, he would look forgettable, too. That was the only difference between them; the eyes. Connor had wide, chocolate brown eyes, which only added to the air of nonthreatening-ness that seemed to hang around him.

He hated looking so…harmless. But at the same time, it was always better having people think you were harmless, because when you cast an unforgivable curse at them, they would never have expected it.

Oh, Connor knew all about the unforgivable curses. He liked to read about them, glance into what they did to people. Compelling people to do what you needed them to, without laying a finger on them, it sounded too good to be true. Even the Cruciatus curse was interesting. Connor had stumbled across an article written by a survivor of the curse, and he’d found it absolutely _fascinating._ It had been mostly gibberish, of course, because anybody who lived through the curse ended up losing their mind.

And the killing curse? While most other people thought it either unspeakably horrendous or a beautiful creation, Connor saw it as merely an efficient tool. Painless, and over in split seconds. Able to be cast without speaking. It would be so easy to just sneak up behind the blood-traitor Minister of Magic and kill him without a word.

He was getting lost in thought again. Quickly, Connor threw on his clothes and walked downstairs, not bothering to look in the mirror. He knew what he’d see, so what was the point? Pale skin, brown eyes, a small scattering of freckles over his nose. Wearing the black blazer he’d picked out, he could have passed for a muggle.

The stairs creaked under his feet, alerting every living creature of his presence.

Conan was sitting at the large, stone table that they ate their meals at. He was waving around their mother’s wand aimlessly, a few sparks shooting from its end every now and then. The table he was perched at was old, engraved with beautiful patterns and dotted here and there with emeralds, because no matter where he went, there was always a reminder of Slytherin’s beauty.

Amanda Stern stood by the window, hands clasped neatly behind her back. Their mother. Adoptive mother, of course, because their birth mother had decided to run off with a muggle after the two were born to another wizard. One day, Connor would find the woman who abandoned him and his brother, and he would kill her for her crimes against the wizarding world.

It was the circle of life, as Amanda had explained to them so many times before.

“You’re up.” Amanda said, voice cool and uninterested. It was merely an observation. Her long, elegant green robes spilled onto the floor, fanning out beneath her like water. “Be quick, we don’t have much time before the portkey leaves.”

Connor simply nodded, casting a quick glance at Conan, who was staring at him, unblinking. Pale blue eyes that would have unnerved anyone else boring through him in that way they did. It was comforting in its familiarity, Conan’s stare. Connor knew what it meant. They were twins, of course. They’d developed such a good understanding of each other that they didn’t need words to communicate anymore.

Connor contemplated eating breakfast, but he didn’t have much of an appetite, so he just sat down across from Conan and met his brother’s unblinking eyes.

A tilt of Conan’s head, eyes flicking carefully over to the kitchen. The meaning was simple enough.

_Aren’t you going to eat?_

A miniscule shake of Connor’s head, and a twitch of his mouth.

_Not hungry._

Amanda appreciated silence in their home, and she kept it with such determined discipline that it was hard not to stay silent around other pureblooded families that visited them. Connor often found himself not speaking for hours at a time, unless having a family conversation; the subject of which was always one of three things.

The Dark Lord’s mission, and how righteous it was;

How Amanda was counting on the twins to do well in school and become the best wizards of their generation;

Or, rarely, a debate around the best ways to kill off the mudbloods.

However, they did speak more often, now, but Connor still found it much easier to communicate with his brother via body language and tiny movements or signals that only they understood. It was a foolproof way of communicating without anybody else overhearing.

A good skill to have, considering their future.

“We have a tight schedule today.” Amanda told the two of them, turning to look away from the window. “I have a meeting with the Reeds, and you two need to be at the station by ten-thirty.”

Connor and Conan exchanged a glance, the glitter in Conan’s eyes the only thing betraying his excitement. In truth, Connor was excited, too. He’d never been away from home before, and he was going to be at Hogwarts for a full year.

If it weren’t for Amanda standing in front of them, he knew he and Conan would be whispering excitedly about it.

Seeing as Amanda was there, however, Connor focused all of his nervous energy into reciting everything he’d learned about Hogwarts in his head.

“Permission to speak, mother?” Conan said calmly, none of his emotion showing in his voice.

Amanda’s dark eyes flicked over to him. “Permission granted.”

“I wanted to ask why we didn’t go to Diagon Alley earlier this week.” Conan tilted his head, ever so slightly. Connor noticed it, noticed the confusion that was showing itself through the action. “Wouldn’t it have been more efficient to do so?”

Amanda blinked slowly, one of her whip-thin eyebrows twitching. “Certain events came up and prevented us from going earlier. Nothing for you to worry about,” she added, meeting Connor’s gaze pointedly for a second. “I am very busy at the moment with other pureblood families, recruiting those who wish to join us.”

Conan nodded, then, to Connor’s surprise, spoke again. “Will we obtain personal wands, during our trip?”

“You will both visit Ollivander’s and purchase a wand each.” Amanda told him. “I will personally pay for your wands and robes, as well as the necessary textbooks that are required for first years at Hogwarts. If you wish to purchase an owl, or anything that is not compulsory, you will have to pay for it yourselves.”

That was perfectly fair. Connor and Conan both had small amounts of money that they had put aside for buying an owl, or something of the sort. They had both planned ahead meticulously, making sure that they had enough money for whatever it was they might have needed during their year at Hogwarts.

Then, all of a sudden, Amanda clasped her hands together, the sound piercing through the silence that always enveloped the house like a clap of thunder. Connor couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden noise.

“The portkey will be ready in two minutes.” She announced. And although her voice was still quiet, it felt wrong, somehow. The volume of it all, it made Connor’s skin crawl, as if thousands of spiders had burrowed into him. “We must go.”

Conan nodded and stood up. Connor followed suit. He’d only taken a few steps when he felt his brother’s hand take his own and squeeze it once, twice. He looked at Conan and saw the furrow of his eyebrows, the softening of his gaze.

_Everything’s okay._

\- - -

The first thing Connor noticed about Diagon Alley was the noise. It was so loud, and crowded, and filled with bright lights and colours and the scents of strange potions brewing. As soon as they stepped foot in the Alley, his senses were immediately bombarded by a barrage of offensive sights and sounds and smells.

If it weren’t for Conan’s hand, still holding onto him, still grounding him, he would have lost himself. Being at home was one thing, because there he felt safe and able to do anything, but being in such a huge place surrounded by so many strangers, it was overwhelming.

Despite that, despite the anxiety-inducing crowds and the noises that made him dizzy and disoriented, it was interesting. Connor didn’t see much of the outside world, as Amanda was a recluse and liked to keep him and Conan in their own little pocket dimension of the world.

Thinking it over now, Connor wondered whether that fact had an effect on his social skills. Most likely, but he figured he wouldn’t need to make any new friends. He had Conan, and he’d planned everything that came next out to the smallest detail.

Step one: Get sorted into Slytherin with Conan. (On the off chance that this step failed, Connor had made the decision to keel over and die because he certainly couldn’t handle being without his brother.)

Step two: Stay by Conan’s side so you don’t get separated _ever._

Step three: Come of age and join the ranks as a Death Eater.

Step four: Live to see the Dark Lord prevail. Or—if, somehow, he was thwarted—die.

So, Connor was pretty sure everything would be fine, but only if Conan never left him. The thought of being without his brother in such a huge, scary world…it made him feel as if his chest was caving in.

A nudge from Conan shook him out of his thoughts. He glanced at his brother and blinked.

“Mother told us to go to Ollivander’s.” He said quietly. He then gestured at one of the oldest looking storefronts, which was maybe fifty metres away. “It’s over there. Once we buy our wands I’m going to look for an owl.”

Ollivander’s. Wand shop. Fifty-something metres away, which meant walking through the crowded streets with nothing but Conan’s hand stopping him from getting trampled to death or getting lost. As much as he hated to admit it, Connor needed his brother. He might die within the next thirty seconds.

Instead of voicing his concerns, Connor nodded. “Okay.”

Conan didn’t quite smile—he never did—but his cold gaze softened some as he carefully wove through the crowds of other wizards, clutching Connor’s hand to keep them from being separated.

Around them, countless wizarding families carried their children’s Hogwarts supplies, and Connor found himself watching them closely. They were speaking freely, not even looking to the mother for permission. They walked haphazardly, not perfectly paced like they were supposed to. Their wands hung limply in their hands, and Connor was shocked to see that they were all wearing muggle clothes.

 _Mudbloods and traitors._ Connor’s mind whispered. That was the only excuse for their poor behaviours. No pureblood family with an ounce of respect for the wizarding world would ever be caught acting so careless in public.

The best way to kill them in this moment would not be a killing curse; the streets were too crowded for that. No, Connor would Imperius them and send them into the road to be killed by clumsy muggles. That way, he could slip away as quietly as possible and avoid detection. Contrary to popular belief, Avada Kedavra was not always the best option.

He cast one last glance at the family he had been watching before returning his focus to not getting trampled.

Thankfully, he and Conan made it to the store without dying. A small bell rang to announce their arrival, yet another loud sound that was ruining Connor’s perfect, silent world.

Despite the bell’s noise, nobody appeared behind a counter. Conan let go of Connor’s hand to browse the shelves of display wands, an emotion in his eyes that Connor couldn’t quite read.

Connor followed suit, absently trailing his fingers across the glass casings. The wands looked so different to the one that Amanda possessed; her wand was extravagantly designed and made of a pale birch wood, imbedded with emeralds here and there amongst the carvings, but the wands that Ollivander created were all simplistic enough. Connor wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

He knew that the wand needed to fit the owner, that you couldn’t just pick out the best looking wand and expect it to work. He wondered whether he would end up with an ugly, over-the-top wand like Amanda, or whether it would be inconspicuous, like everything else about him.

“Connor, _look.”_ Conan breathed. He was staring into a case, blue eyes wide, as if he had just seen the one thing he wanted in life. Connor hurried over to join him, his own eyes widening in surprise.

In the case lay two twin wands, carved from pale ivory wood. Not the same kind of colour as Amanda’s, because they were much paler in comparison. Small, intricate carvings twisted around the hilt of them, a light blue tint to their tips. Not the most extravagant designs, but there was something oddly captivating about the wands.

Another voice broke through the silence. Unknown. Unwelcome.

“Found something you like, boys?”

Conan turned around to address the stranger, and Connor copied him a few seconds later.

Old. That was the first word that came to Connor’s mind when he saw the man standing in front of him. Very, very old. Connor wondered how the man could even stand without a slight breeze cracking his hip and making him tumble to the ground.

Rude. Was also another word. Rude, for interrupting their browsing. Rude, for addressing them so casually, despite them being complete strangers.

The man speaking to them was Garrick Ollivander, a renowned wand maker known for the strength of the magic that his wands produced. One of the best, according to Amanda. A blood-traitor, but Connor supposed he could look past that if he were to obtain a powerful wand in the end.

“Those wands.” Conan started, using the voice he used whenever speaking to a stranger. The cold politeness and air of disinterest that always made people respect you. “They are beautiful. My brother and I are looking for wands such as those, and we wanted to know whether we could trial them.”

Conan’s politeness and cold stare seemed to throw Ollivander off for a moment. Connor had found that most adults didn’t expect children to act the way that the twins did, because most adults raised their children completely wrong.

It was only a moment, however, because Ollivander’s smile returned and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course, of course.” Connor and his brother stepped aside the let the man access the glass case with wrinkled hands that shook with age.

“These two are eleven-inch, Aspen wood, with a Dragon Heartstring Core.” Ollivander said as he gently lifted the wands from their protective case. “Very powerful, but they can be unpredictable at times. You’ll need to be a very strong wizard to master them.”

Conan nodded curtly. “Thankfully, we are the strongest wizards of our generation.” He said, voice cool and firm, leaving no place for anybody to object.

Ollivander smiled at him. “I’m sure you are.” He then carefully passed one of the wands to Conan, who stared at it for a moment. Then, Ollivander turned to Connor, who looked up at him coldly.

Connor took his wand without a word, lithe fingers tracing the small patterns in its base. Up close, he realised that the engravings were different on each wand. Conan’s wand had more sharp lines and triangular shapes, whereas the one Connor was holding seemed softer and less aggressive. Just like their eyes.

“Now, give them a wave and see if they do what you want.” Ollivander instructed. Connor watched Conan wave his wand in the air, gently, in swooping circles. It looked as though he had done this all before, the way he moved with such grace and confidence. It looked like he was already an experienced wizard.

If that had been the case, it was foolish of Ollivander to trust a stranger with such a strong wand. Connor could easily cast a spell behind him and he would be caught completely off-guard. Oh, it would be so simple, once they had their magic, to kill anybody they needed.

Nothing happened for a short moment, but just as Ollivander reached to take the wand away, a spark of green escaped the tip, illuminating the dull room for a split second. Conan stared at his wand in amazement, blue eyes wide.

“I did it.” Conan said, seeming slightly surprised. He looked at Connor, who gave a small, nervous smile.

Ollivander grinned at him. “It seems your wand has claimed you, boy.” He glanced back at Connor, and beckoned him forwards. “Now, you have a go.”

Connor blinked, and then hesitantly flicked his wand upwards.

He didn’t expect anything more than the same sparks that Conan had received, but after he flicked his wand again, a bright blue flash lit up the room. A blindingly bright light, that left Connor dazed for a second. He felt the power tingling at his fingertips, coursing through his body towards the wand. He looked up and found both Ollivander and Conan staring at him in awe.

“Such a strong reaction!” Ollivander cried, clapping his hands together. “You possess great power, my son.”

Connor nodded slightly. Conan came to stand next to him, linking their arms together. He did not speak, but the message was clear enough. He was proud of Connor.

“It’s not unheard of for twin wands to choose a set of twin wizards, but it doesn’t happen often.” Ollivander informed them. “And especially not wands as strong as these. You two most have an exceptionally strong bond.”

“We do.” Conan and Connor chorused quietly, speaking in sync.

Ollivander gave a small chuckle. “Now, I suppose you want to buy these wands?”

Before either brother could reply, a familiar cold voice sounded from behind them, just as the small bell rang to announce yet another customer.

“Actually, I was going to pay for them.” Amanda came up behind them and placed a hand protectively on each twin’s shoulder. Connor glanced up at her, seeing the distrust in her expression. “My children deserve only the best, of course.”

Ollivander’s gaze flashed with something unreadable for a fleeting moment, but the smile returned to his eyes and he nodded. “Of course. If you would come to the counter, I can sort something out for you.”

Amanda looked down at Connor and Conan. “Wait for me outside. We’ll look for owls, and then you will go to the station.”

Connor inclined his head and hurried outside, standing just outside the door with his hands clasped behind his back. Conan followed, not a second later, and as soon as he was out of the store, he clapped his hands together.

“We’re finally real wizards, brother!” He whispered excitedly as he positioned himself at Connor’s side. “We have wands, and we’re going to Hogwarts in an hour! Are you excited?”

Connor nodded, letting himself show his emotion, because Amanda could not see them. “Most excited.” At Conan’s exasperated sigh, he continued. “I really am, brother. I just hope we will learn spells that are important for our line of work, and not pointless charms.”

Conan hummed in agreement. “I want to learn the unforgivables.”

“What’s this I hear about the unforgivables?” Amanda was behind them, now. The brothers turned to look at her, and she gazed down at Conan disapprovingly, positioning her between the two of them. “I do not want you attempting those curses until you are ready. Losing an heir such as yourselves to a stupid mistake would make us seem like a family of amateurs.”

“Yes, mother.” Conan said. Behind Amanda’s back, he rolled his eyes at Connor. “Can we purchase our owls, now?”


	2. Magic Manfred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus makes an appearance. The Andersons are wholesome.

You know what was strange? Waking up a week after your eleventh birthday to a letter claiming that you were a wizard. You know what was even stranger? The letter telling you that there was a school of witchcraft and wizardry that you had been selected to attend. Because apparently magic was a thing, and you possessed it, despite not one person in your family ever claiming they were wizards or witches or dragons, or whatever. Because apparently all of this wasn’t a crazy joke, and things like this actually happened to people.

The strangest thing about this whole predicament? Markus’ father absolutely, one-hundred percent believed it.

“So you’re saying you think I’m actually a wizard?” Markus asked over dinner as he poured himself a glass of water. “You actually believe that magic exists?”

Carl Manfred nodded enthusiastically—or, as enthusiastically as an old man in a wheelchair could manage. “Of course, Markus. I always knew you were special.”

“Special, as in smarter than all my classmates,” Markus pointed out. “Not special as in I’m a wizard, right? You haven’t thought I was magic all this time, have you?”

Carl chuckled. “Of course not. But aren’t there some unexplainable, strange things that have happened to you that you feel like are only explained by magic?” He raised an eyebrow. “What about that time your third-grade teacher somehow ended up growing a moustache, despite _her_ never claiming that she wanted to, right after you got in trouble for helping out a classmate?”

“Coincidence.” Markus said. He took a bite of his food. Non-magic food, mind you, because magic wasn’t real, and this was all a practical joke.

Carl heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, where’s your imagination, Markus? You’re eleven! You’re supposed to jump on this opportunity to call yourself a wizard with glee!”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m just smarter than everyone else.” He said, pointing his fork at Carl to back up his point. “Who really believes in old ladies who ride broomsticks and talk to cats? It’s all made up. That’s why it’s called fantasy!”

“Up until a few years ago, you thought seahorses were made up.” Carl told him, amusement in his eyes. “Who’s to say that you’re wrong about this, too?”

Markus glared at him. “That’s not the same. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dragon or a unicorn in an aquarium, dad.”

A beat. Carl chewed his food slowly, seemingly mulling over his words.

“You _actually_ believe this, don’t you?” Markus said. “You’re not joking with me.”

“There comes a point in your life when you realise that weird things happen. Weird, unexplainable, completely insane things. Like, for example, this magic business.” Carl started. “And sometimes, when you get old, like me, you realise that these things only get crazier. So no, this isn’t a normal thing that happens to normal people, but I know stranger things are going to happen, so why should I doubt this one thing?”

“Because it’s _insanity!”_ Markus cried. “Magic, dad! Like, real, non-card trick magic!”

Carl sighed, setting his fork down and lacing his fingers on the tabletop. “I know this is a lot to think about, Markus. Especially for someone as young as you, but don’t you think that you should at least _attempt_ to understand it?”

Markus stared at him. “What’s there to understand? It’s magic!” This was quite possibly the stupidest conversation they’d ever had over dinner. And that was saying something, because they had stupid conversations quite often.

“Son, there’s lots of things in the world that are hard to understand like this.” Carl said. “There’s things that nobody could even imagine trying to explain, like what space looks like or what lives at the bottom of the ocean. For all we know, magic is completely real. For all we know, magic is something Mrs White who lives across the street possesses. Maybe you’re right, and this is a practical joke, but then again, maybe it’s real, and you’re actually a wizard with magical powers.”

Markus exhaled slowly through his nose. He guessed he could kind of see where Carl was coming from, but it was still hard to believe. There were still thousands of questions he wanted the answers to. If this was true, and he was actually magic, why hadn’t he been told until now? Where was ‘Hogwarts’? What in the world was platform nine-and-three-quarters? Most importantly, did this mean that dragons and griffons and all those other magical creatures existed?

The two ate in silence for a moment. Both deep in thought. Markus picked half-heartedly at his food, swirling it around on his plate. Carl was too busy thinking to tell him off for playing with his food.

There was no way this could be real. Magic didn’t exist. The creatures from Markus’ old fairytales didn’t exist. All those crazy things that had happened to him were just weird coincidences…right?

Now that he thought about it, there _had_ been a lot of strange things that had happened to him. Unexplainable, insane things. Not all of them were as harmless as the time that his third-grade teacher grew a moustache. There’d been one instance when he was being chased across the schoolyard by bullies, and then suddenly he’d been safe on the roof of the school, far away from harm, but the bullies had been thrown into dumpsters by some invisible force. Markus had thought it was just a really strong wind, but now that he was actually aware enough to think about it, that didn’t make any sense whatsoever. Things like that had been happening his whole life; glass and windows shattering when he was angry, animals giving him weird looks, a cake exploding in a friend’s face on her birthday once.

Could it really have been _magic?_

No. No way. Markus wasn’t believing it. No sir. It was just a bunch of weird, admittedly unbelievable, coincidences.

Magic didn’t exist.

“I really wanted you to believe this on your own.” Carl said with a small sigh, breaking the tense silence. “But I guess if you really don’t believe me, or the letter, then I have no choice.”

Markus snapped his head up to look at him. “What are you talking about?” He asked in a small voice. Did Carl know something? Was _he_ magic?

“Do you know where Leo went to school?” Carl asked.

Of course he did. Markus’ older brother, Leo, had gone to some pretentious boarding school. Probably to fix his many behavioural problems.

“Yeah.” Markus said. “Boarding school in Scotland, right? Like a fancy school for kids with…issues.”

Because Leo was a horrible person. Even Markus knew it. Leo did drugs and bullied kids smaller than him. He hated his family and had never talked to Markus when he lived with them.

A pause.

“Well, what if I told you that Leo went to the same school that contacted you?” Carl ventured. “What if I told you that wizardry runs in our family?”

The words took a second to sink in. Markus stared at his father as if he’d just grown a second head.

“ _What_ did you just say?” Markus whispered in disbelief. There was no way that Carl was a wizard. No, he’d have told Markus about it. He’d have taught Markus how to do magic by now. This was just one huge prank. It had to be.

“Leo was—Leo _is_ a wizard, just like you.” Carl told him kindly. “He went to Hogwarts after he turned eleven, like what I want you to do. The only reason he doesn’t visit is because he doesn’t want to. He jumped at the opportunity to leave and never see either of us again.”

Markus couldn’t form any comprehendible sentences. He just stared dumbly at his father, mouth slightly agape. He wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like he was having a stroke.

 _Leo_ had magic. Leo, his estranged older brother who loved drugs more than life itself? _That_ Leo? That didn’t make any sense! How was Leo a wizard? Surely he would have cast a spell to make more drug money, instead of stealing from their dad. This was insane.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

There was a twinkle of amusement in Carl’s eyes, as if he found this whole conversation absolutely hilarious. And it would have been, if Markus’ world hadn’t just tumbled down around him.

“Are…are _you_ magic?” Markus asked quietly once he found his words. “Are you a wizard?”

Carl shook his head. “No. Well, not exactly. I can see magic, and I know of its existence, but I don’t possess magic like you and your older brother. In the wizarding world, people like me are known as Squibs. Most regular people, muggles, are blissfully unaware of the magical world around them. That’s why you don’t hear of this stuff more often.”

He’d just thrown around a lot of strange terms that Markus barely understood. It sounded like a different language. Muggles and Squibs and wizardry. It was all a lot to process.

“Wait, hold up.” Markus said. “You’ve known about this the whole time? Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

A sigh. “I didn’t know for sure that you were a wizard. I thought it would be cruel of me to fill your head with these ideas of you with a wand, going to Hogwarts, if it turned out in the end that you weren’t like your brother.”

That made sense. Markus did think he would have been disappointed to know that magic exists only to learn he didn’t possess it.

“I know this is a lot to take in, son, and I understand if you need to process things.” Carl told him. “But if you’re willing to accept your invitation to Hogwarts, then I can take you to purchase your things for the school year later this week.”

Markus glared at him. “Anything else you need to tell me about before I agree? Is there a dragon living under our house or something? Did Leo cast a spell on his face to make himself look so ugly? Do I have to ride a broom to school?”

“No, no, and only if you want to.” Carl told him. “Actually, flying on a broom is covered in one of your first-year subjects.”

Of course it was. That was completely fine. It wasn’t like it completely disregarded the laws of physics or anything.

“Listen, Markus,” Carl started. “You don’t have to do anything about this if you don’t want to. If you don’t want anything to do with your magic, we can just continue life as normal. You can go to a regular school, be a regular eleven-year-old. None of this has to have an impact on your life, unless you want it to.”

That was the question, though, wasn’t it? Did Markus actually want his magic? Yeah, it sounded awesome. It sounded too good to be true, even. What eleven-year-old didn’t wish they could wave a wand around and make their problems disappear? Still, apparently it meant leaving Carl for years at a time, only visiting on holidays, and Markus didn’t want to do that. He’d never been away from home for more than a weekend before. He didn’t know whether Carl would be able to take care of himself without Markus there to help him. He didn’t even know if Carl would be able to move from room to room in the house without somebody to push him around!

“I…” Markus shook his head, trying to find the words to convey what he was feeling. “I want to be a wizard. I really, _really_ do. It’s just…what’ll happen to you, dad? What’ll happen while I’m not here to take care of you? What if something bad happens to you and I wasn’t there to fix it? What if—”

Carl’s gaze softened. “Markus, you don’t just exist to take care of me. You’re allowed to have a life outside of this house. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself without worrying about your father.” He took Markus’ hand across the table and squeezed it comfortingly. “I’ll be fine. If I really need to, I’ll ask Andre to come over and help me out. You don’t have to worry about me, son.”

Markus sighed softly. “But I want to. I want to be helpful.”

“It would help me out a great deal if you went to Hogwarts.” Carl told him. “I’d feel much better knowing you were in safe hands, learning how to control your wonderful abilities.”

It still didn’t sit right with Markus, but he knew how stubborn his father was when it came to things like this. He gave a begrudging nod after a few more moments of consideration, understanding that Carl wasn’t about to let him ignore this opportunity.

“Okay.” Markus said finally, determination in his voice. “I’ll do it. I’ll go to Hogwarts.”

\- - -

Big mistake.

Apparently, ‘going to Hogwarts’ also meant joining a random wizarding family in their magical shopping trip for the school year. Carl wasn’t able to leave the house to get to ‘Diagon Alley’, so Markus had to tag along with an old magical family that Carl knew.

It turned out that Diagon Alley wasn’t just an alley. Thousands of wizards and witches roamed a wide street that was inhabited by hundreds of magical shops and stalls. Markus was bombarded with an abundance of shiny glass vials and strange smelling potions as soon as he stepped foot in the alley. There were shops selling robes, wands, cauldrons, potions, owls, bats; everything a wizard would need in his or her life.

It was really overwhelming, but it was also one of the most interesting places Markus had ever been, and he’d been to some crazy places with Carl. Never before had he been to a place so obviously magical. The noises of bustling crowds and attempted haggling filled Markus’ ears as he strolled down the street and approached a wand shop.

The family he tagged along with was nice enough. The Andersons. Apparently, Carl knew the father from an old bar they used to go to together, before Carl lost the use of his legs. There were two young wizards that were currently showing Markus around. The younger Anderson brother, Cole, was a first year in Hogwarts, too. He was bubbly and excitable, pointing out different things for Markus to see, explaining how things in the wizarding world worked.

Cole was small and nonthreatening, bright blue eyes that glittered with excitement under an unruly mop of tawny hair. Between his large, childish eyes was a slightly crooked nose that hinted at a fight at some point in his life, although Markus had no idea who would dare harm somebody who looked so innocent and kind. His face was covered in a smattering of freckles, which made him look roughly three years younger than he actually was. The young wizard was chatting excitedly, seeming to never run out of words.

The older brother, Henry (or Hank, as he insisted) was less excited. He was a third year, which meant he’d already gone through all of this before and the excitement of it all was wasted on him. He was tall, taller than an average thirteen-year-old would be. He looked like an older, less freckly version of Cole. Gruff, and kind of intimidating. He did answer a bunch of Markus’ questions, though, so that was good.

“Are there dragons at Hogwarts?” Markus asked as they perused a glass case containing a variety of wands. Actual, _magical_ wands. How crazy was that?

Hank shook his head. “No. They’re too dangerous.” He already had his own wand, which meant he was supervising the two younger wizards as they looked through the displays. “There’s ghosts, though.”

Markus stared at him. “Ghosts? As in dead people?”

Cole was the one to answer, this time. “Yeah! Mum and dad told me a ghost teaches one of the classes at school.” He tugged on Hank’s sleeve. “Which class? Which ghost?”

Hank gave a long, heavy sigh. “Professor Binns. He teaches muggle studies. One of the most bloody boring classes you’ll ever sit through.” He gave Cole a sharp look. “Hurry up. The train leaves in an hour.”

Cole had explained to Markus earlier that to get to Hogwarts, you had to go on a special train. To get to the train, you had to pass through the column between platforms nine and ten, because that made perfect sense in the wizarding world.

Wizards were weird.

That’s the only thing Markus had figured out thus far. Cole and Hank were what wizards called half-bloods, with a pureblood wizard mother and a muggle-born father. Muggle-borns were wizards like Leo and Markus, who didn’t have magical parents but somehow managed to obtain magic themselves.

The word muggle was thrown around a lot. Another thing Markus had quickly figured out was how little pureblood and half-blood wizards knew about the muggle world. Markus knew all about maths and cars and all the average, day-to-day things that muggles used, but trying to explain these things to Cole and Hank was proving to be difficult.

“So you drive metal things?” Cole had inquired when Markus had mentioned cars. “How do they move? How do you control them? Isn’t metal heavy?”

So then, Markus had to explain what pistons and engines were. Cole found this all absolutely fascinating, claiming he would love doing muggle studies, and that Hank was just lazy.

At which point Hank decided to push them into buying their wands and getting this all over and done with.

“Wands have to choose their owners.” Hank informed the two younger wizards as they stood, waiting for Ollivander to find a wand to fit them. “Otherwise they won’t work properly, and all your spells will fail.”

Markus furrowed his eyebrows. “That sounds really inconvenient.” He said.

Hank just hummed his agreement. Markus wandered around the shop while they waited, examining all the thin, twisting wands in the cases. It was surreal, actually being a part of this hidden magical world that was always around him. The wands looked exactly like magic wands should; different types of wood, in twisted, uneven shapes. Some were carved in extravagant patterns, and some looked as simple as a twig you would find on the pavement. Each one of the wands had a different name, a different look. No two were exactly the same.

There was a small, elegant looking glass display case that was surprisingly empty. The label read ‘eleven-inch Aspen wands, Dragon Heartstring core: 17 Galleons each.’

According to the Andersons, Galleons, Sickles and Knuts were the currency of the wizarding world. Markus wondered how he would be able to get his hands on some wizard money. He figured he would probably need some of it, now that he was going to Hogwarts.

“Tell me more about Hogwarts.” Markus said as he looked through the collection of wands. “Like, how does it work?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “You’re really asking me how a school works?”

“No! I mean, how do the classes and stuff work? I’ve been to school before, but never _magic_ school.”

Cole bounced over to him. “Oh! I know this! There’s…there’s four houses, each with different ideals and tactics. Gryffindor is the house for brave, heroic, kind of arrogant people. Gryffindor’s house colours are red and gold. Ravenclaw is the house for all the smart, studious people, and its house colours are blue and silver. Hufflepuff is yellow and bronze, and they value loyalty and good work ethic. Slytherin is the evil house; all the mean, ambitious, sociopathic people go into it. The Slytherin colours are green and silver.”

Markus blinked. “There’s really a house designed for evil people?” He asked. Behind him, Hank scoffed.

“No, there’s not.” He said. “Cole’s just making stuff up. Slytherin has the meanest people, sure, but no school actually designs a place to put all the bullies.”

“Oh.” Markus didn’t really have anything else to say to that, so Hank continued.

“You’ll learn about all of that useless information at orientation.” Hank told him. “There’s a huge feast and then you get sorted into the house that best suits your personality.”

“What house are you in?” Markus asked him curiously. He thought that Hank seemed like a Gryffindor, or maybe even a Slytherin, judging by his attitude.

“Ravenclaw.” Hank said dully. “I think the sorting hat got me mixed up with somebody else.”

Before Markus had a chance to ask what on earth a _sorting hat_ was, a little old man appeared from the door to what seemed to be a storage room. The man looked absolutely ancient, but also very, very magical. There was a wand strapped to his belt, which was sitting over some magic-looking robes, dyed a royal blue colour. He looked like the wizard from all of Markus’ old stories, the one who cast a spell on a princess and turned her into a frog.

“ _Henry_ Anderson!” The man, presumably Ollivander, cried. “What brings you back to my humble store? The Whomping Willow snap your wand again?”

Hank sighed. “Actually, I brought my nuisance of a brother and Carl Manfred’s son to get their wands chosen.” He said, gesturing at Markus and Cole. The latter of the two was beaming up at Ollivander cheerfully.

Ollivander clasped his hands together with a smile. “Oh, wonderful!” He said. He shuffled out from behind the counter and peered at Markus through his glasses. “Carl Manfred’s son, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” Markus said. “Do you know my father?”

Ollivander nodded, still smiling warmly. “His art is quite famous, even in the wizarding community. Because he’s a squib, and he knows of magic’s existence, he likes to add little touches of magic to his paintings. I love how fantastical his art is.”

Markus had always loved his father’s enchanted take on reality, the warped landscapes and magical creatures that Carl incorporated into his paintings. Now, he guessed he knew the reason behind it.

“So, looking for wands, are we?” Ollivander asked cheerfully. “Let’s see what I can find for you two.”

Markus and Cole stood side-by-side, waiting patiently as Ollivander rummaged through his stores, searching for wands. Markus took the time to look around the room once again, surveying his surroundings.

It was a dimly lit store, but that added to the mysterious ambience of the building. The store itself was located in a back alley, a less populated area of the massive wizarding mall that was Diagon Alley. It was a quaint building, a singular room lined with displays of wands and little signs displaying information on each type of wand wood and core. The door behind the counter hinted at a back room or storage closet, but judging by the size of the store, Markus doubted that it was very large inside.

If it hadn’t been a blatantly magical wand store, Markus would have thought the building belonged to an eccentric old woman who liked cats more than she probably should have.

Hank had briefly explained the different properties of wands while the three of them looked at the other stores. That alone should have hinted at Hank being a Ravenclaw; nobody else would bother remembering those kinds of detailed descriptions. There were so many varieties of wand, so many different woods to be aware of, the amount of care that was put into making a wand was overwhelming.

Ollivander made his way back over to them, a few wooden boxes piled in his arms. Markus saw the excitement glittering in Cole’s eyes, felt his own excitement building. He was about to get a wand! He was about to become a real wizard and learn spells at a magic school!

Ollivander gently placed the boxes down on the counter and opened one of them. He gingerly drew a brownish coloured wand that resembled a common garden twig, which was about ten inches long. He handed the wand to Cole, who took it in his hands eagerly.

“This is ten-inch cedar wood with a Unicorn Hair core.” Ollivander informed, giving Cole a fond look as the young wizard stared in wonder at the wand in his hands. “Go on, give it a wave and see what happens.”

Cole screwed up his face in a look of intense concentration before waving the wand around in the air aimlessly, obviously expecting something wondrous to happen. The wand seemed too big in such a small person’s hands, but it was elegant and thin enough to make it almost look natural.

Markus watched, enthralled. For a few moments, nothing happened, but then a vase sitting on the edge of the counter shattered with a sharp smashing noise, making all three of the younger wizards jump. Hank coughed awkwardly, and Cole turned to glare at him.

“That’s alright.” Ollivander said. “Not many people find the right wand on their first try, now.” He took the cedar wand from Cole’s hands and placed it back in its box. Then, he moved onto the next wand, which was slightly smaller.

“Now, this one is dogwood, ten-inch, also with a Unicorn Hair core.” Ollivander said as Cole took the wand from his hands. After a second of stillness, Cole gave the wand a small wave, in a slight arc, with a sharp flick of his wrist afterwards.

Immediately, a spark ignited from the tip of the wand, illuminating the room for a short moment. The spark erupted from the end of the wand and danced around Cole, like some kind of pixie or something. It shifted from red to yellow to green in colour, like a muggle light show. Cole beamed, his eyes lighting up once again as he watched the light fade. Markus couldn’t help but watch in awe, as he’d just seen his first real example of magic.

Hank put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “See? Told you you’d get a dogwood wand.”

Cole made a face, sticking out his tongue at his older brother. Then, he turned back to Ollivander. “Does this mean I get to keep it?” He asked excitedly.

Ollivander smiled kindly at him. “If you want it, then yes.” He looked at Markus, something unreadable in his expression. “Now, I think it’s time to find Markus a wand.”

Markus watched eagerly as Ollivander lifted another wand and examined it for a second. “This is twelve-inch ash wood with a Unicorn Hair core.” He informed Markus, gently pressing the wand into his hands.

Markus looked down at the wand, running the fingers of his left hand over the uneven surface. He was actually holding a wand. A magical wand. This was insane.

Cautiously, Markus flicked his wand up with a twitch of his hand, then waved the wand in a small swooping motion. A strange feeling overtook him, a light feeling that filled his body and made him feel as though he could fly. Something, an odd crackling sensation, shot down his right arm, travelling towards the wand. Markus watched as a showering of sparks erupted from the tip, a brilliant crimson colour that sent shivers down Markus’ spine. _He_ did that. He just made magical things happen. He watched in awe as the sparks drifted in the air for a second before dispersing, and then he turned his attention back to Ollivander.

“Wonderful!” Ollivander cried. “Absolutely wonderful, my boy!”

Markus smiled. He saw Cole staring at him, awestruck.

“That was so cool!” Cole said. He looked at Hank. “Wasn’t that cool? I bet nobody else has ever found their wand on the first try!”

Markus expected Hank to roll his eyes, but the older wizard just smiled and ruffled Cole’s hair. “Yeah, that was pretty cool.”

Cole beamed at him and turned to look up at Ollivander. “Can we buy them, now?”

Ollivander chuckled. “Of course. If you would just come over to the counter…”

Markus glanced out the store window as Hank payed for the two wands. He watched countless wizarding families going past, some with children as young as four or five. A young girl zoomed around on a fake broomstick, being chased by her father and shrieking with laughter. Another family surprised their son with an owl, which didn’t take kindly to being squished in a hug. Two young women walked hand-in-hand, shopping for potion ingredients together. In the shadows of a building, a dark-skinned woman and two boys stood, deep in conversation. One of the young wizards looked up and met Markus’ gaze across the street, fiery brown eyes flicking over his face. He uttered something to the other two wizards, and they moved away.

Huh.


	3. Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins bid Amanda farewell. A familiar jackass makes an appearance.

Amanda stopped the two of them before they entered the station. Her expression was one of disinterest. It was the same expression she always wore whenever one of the twins used to show her things, useless things that had no place in the household.

Conan had quickly learned that Amanda did not care for the twins’ little adventures they’d had as children. Connor had taken longer to figure it out, but he would never dream of speaking to Amanda about anything unimportant now. He knew better.

“Be good.” Amanda said sternly, eyes flicking over the twins. “Study hard and learn everything you can about the pitiful headmaster. We need information.”

She had told them that Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, was one of the only people standing in the Dark Lord’s way. The twins had been given the task of trying to discover the headmaster’s weaknesses and scout for possible ways to remove the threat that was Professor Dumbledore. All while managing not to fail all their classes.

Any regular wizard would find the task near-impossible to accomplish.

“Yes, mother.” Connor and Conan chorused. Connor shrank back as Amanda looked at him, but then Amanda’s gaze softened by a degree, and she stepped forward to pull them both into a hug.

It was startling.

Connor wasn’t used to physical contact from anybody but Conan, who was always holding his hand or his arm. Amanda never rewarded them with hugs or anything of the sort. It was strange that she would do so now, but it was a nice feeling. Connor clung to her, not wanting her to let go. There was a primal instinct inside of him that told him that here was safe, that this was how things were supposed to be. A little voice in the back of his head whispered that this was how mothers were supposed to act. Amanda’s arms were a comforting presence. Warm, despite her usual coldness. Soft, despite the rigidity of her personality. Contradictory things that both confused Connor and made him feel content.

Contradictory things that made Connor wonder whether Amanda was capable of this warmth normally, if she would ever demonstrate her care for the twins if Connor didn’t constantly mess everything up.

“Make me proud, get into Slytherin.” Amanda murmured into their ears, breath tickling the back of Connor’s neck. He nodded stiffly, and Amanda let them both go, the coldness returning to her gaze as if she had never moved to hug them in the first place.

Connor immediately missed the warmth, immediately wanted to make Amanda proud of him so she’d do that more often. He wanted her to care for him, let him be vulnerable sometimes. He found himself wondering if other families hugged each other more often, and instantly scolded himself. Other families were terribly disciplined and useless when it came to skill. Anybody else would kill to be as intelligent and skilled as Conan and Connor were, and it was because Amanda limited their vulnerable moments, limited the physical affection she displayed.

That way, it was a better reward when she did praise them, and they worked harder to impress her.

It was stupid for him to want Amanda to hug them more. It would only make him soft, and that alone was a thought that terrified him. Imagining a life where he was a vulnerable as a muggle child made something inside of him freeze up.

“Let’s go, brother.”

Conan took Connor’s arm and started to lead him away to the station. Connor looked back over his shoulder timidly at Amanda, who met his gaze and mouthed three familiar words. Three words that had become a mantra, over the course of Connor’s not-so-long life.

_Integrate, adapt, eviscerate._

The huge snowy owl perched inside the wire cage wouldn’t stop making noise. It squawked and screeched and made all these horrible, grating sounds that made Connor want to tear the skin off his face. Conan carried his newfound pet, head held high, seemingly unfazed by all the noise.

The owl itself was an elegant looking creature. It had large yellow eyes that glittered with malice as it surveyed its surroundings, a sharp gaze that made Connor feel as though the creature was always watching him. Even its feathers looked sharp, as if they were made from the blade of a knife, thin and deadly. The noises it made were the only things stopping the owl from being the epitome of beauty, the guttural screeches and squawks completely off-putting.

Connor hadn’t bought an owl. They were too noisy and high-maintenance, and their claws got in the way of everything. Conan had tried to coax him into buying a small screech owl. He’d attempted to bond with the owl his twin had recommended, but it had tried to bite his face off, so no, he didn’t buy an owl. Instead, a small ragdoll kitten was curled in his arms, purring contentedly, blue eyes shut. Cats were, thankfully, permitted at Hogwarts alongside owls and toads, which meant that Connor would be able to take his new pet with him.

Connor had always preferred dogs to felines, but that didn’t mean that the kitten cradled in his arms hadn’t immediately caught his eye. The amount of animals he’d been able to choose from was staggering, yet the tiniest, quietest ragdoll kitten had been the one he’d chosen. The cat reminded him of himself, in a way. Small and nonthreatening, nervous without a trusted person holding his arm or his hand. But the kitten was concealing sharp claws that could tear flesh, and Connor was concealing his intelligence and powerful magic.

It was fitting.

The twins were currently waiting besides platform nine and ten, waiting for the window of time where platform nine-and-three-quarters would open. Conan was perched atop his luggage, sitting next to the cage where his owl sat. Connor leaned against the column, cradling the small cat in his arms.

“What are you going to name it?” Conan asked Connor curiously, eyeing the cat. His owl regarded Connor coldly, and Connor glared back at it.

“I don’t know.” Connor said. He looked down at the bundle of fur in his arms and tilted his head. The kitten yawned, revealing a mouth containing sharp white teeth. Then he looked back at the owl. “What about your owl?”

“Imperia.” Conan declared after a moment of deliberation. His gaze flicked over the owl proudly. “As she is regal and proper. She will carry my letters from now on.”

Connor thought the owl might just shred all of Conan’s mail instead, but he didn’t dare say it. The pitiful muggles that kept passing by gave Conan’s screeching creature a wide berth, and Connor didn’t blame them. Imperia didn’t seem to know how to stop making noise.

Connor’s cat obviously didn’t appreciate the owl’s screeching either, as the small creature wriggled in his arms, attempting to seal its—seal _his_ —ears shut. Suddenly, though, the owl stopped making its noises, and Conan sidled closer to Connor, his expression soft.

“We’re so close now, Con.” Conan said. There was a fierce, excited determination in his eyes. “Soon we’ll be in Slytherin together, and then nothing will be able to stop us.”

Connor nodded, shifting slightly towards his twin. He felt Conan’s presence on another level, the unbreakable bond of their brotherhood. He didn’t have many other people to compare it to, but he knew he was closer with Conan than he’d ever been—and probably ever would be—with anybody else.

He still couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him. Bleak and terrible, probably. Terrifying, most definitely. Conan was often the only thing keeping Connor from the panic that was always gnawing at the back of his mind. Connor was dependent on him in a way he couldn’t quite understand yet, and possibly never would. He wondered if Conan was the same, or if he was better at handling being alone. He probably was. Conan was better than Connor at most things, but that didn’t make Conan like him any less. If anything, it made Conan want to protect Connor even more, and Connor needed that. He needed his brother’s protection.

One day, he wanted to repay Conan. He wanted to offer his own protection, take care of his brother in the same way that he’d taken care of Connor in the past. It felt unfair sometimes, relying on Conan in such a way and never returning the favour. He always felt like he was using him, but Conan always assured him that it was fine, that he liked taking care of Connor.

Conan glanced up at the clock that hung over the magical column hiding the entrance to platform nine and three-quarters. “The platform is open.” He announced to Connor. “We should go.”

Connor nodded. He took the handle of the trolley where his trunk sat in one hand and kept the other arm wrapped around his kitten. He watched Conan line himself up, eyes flicking over the stone of the column curiously for a second. They both knew exactly how the entrance worked, of course. Amanda had taught them how to access the platform long ago, for when they first attended Hogwarts. Any muggles that would be passing wouldn’t be able to see them once they’d gotten past the gateway, wouldn’t even remember seeing them at all.

“I’ll go first.” Conan said. “You can follow straight after. I’ll be right on the other side.” He gave Connor a reassuring glance over his shoulder before he was running at full-force into the column. Connor winced as Conan barrelled into it, part of him sure his brother would slam into it and break every bone in his body, but he didn’t. Conan just disappeared into the stone with a small flash.

Connor blinked at the place where his brother had last been, already feeling less safe. He hesitantly glanced around before running at full force at the stone column. His instincts were screaming for him to stop, but he kept running until he would have collided with the stone, if it weren’t charmed.

There was a disorienting feeling of being completely spun around and flipped upside-down, and then Connor emerged into platform nine and three-quarters. He stumbled slightly as he regained his bearings, blinking against the confusion.

The first thing he noticed about the platform was the amount of people milling around.

If he’d thought Diagon Alley was crowded, then platform nine and three-quarters contained the whole population of the world. Countless wizarding families had joined their children to see them off, causing a spark of _something_ to form in the back of Connor’s mind. He was standing in one of the only unpopulated areas, a square metre or so of empty space around him. For a terrifying moment, Connor couldn’t see Conan at all. He threw his gaze across the platform, desperately searching for his twin.

A hand took his arm, and Connor whirled around. His panic dissipated at the face of Conan, the warmth of his touch.

“We should hurry up and get a compartment before they’re all gone.” Conan said. He dragged Connor closer towards the red train. The Hogwarts Express. It was much bigger than Connor had expected. Shiny, metallic, the faces of other wizards already poking through the windows. Connor avoided their gazes.

Connor hugged the cat to his chest, trying in vain to distract himself from the people milling around, the bustling, loud sounds that set him on-edge. He felt Conan’s grip on his arm tighten, a quiet message that Conan wasn’t going to let him get left behind in the crowd.

The two weaved through the crowds carefully. Connor kept his head down and tried not to catch anyone’s eye, tried not to focus on the fact that he was surrounded by hordes of loud, tall people. He felt suffocated, the bodies surrounding him and getting much too close for him to be comfortable with them. Conan didn’t seem to be struggling at all, but then again, he never did struggle in the same instances as Connor.

“Here.” Conan dragged his luggage over to where another wizard was loading up a storage compartment of the train. He took Imperia’s cage before she could be locked in the compartment, obviously not wanting his new pet to be suffocated. “Leave your stuff and then we’ll find somewhere to sit.”

Connor complied, leaving his luggage with the other wizard before turning and letting Conan lead him away again. He was always following, never daring to lead, because he knew he would get them lost or turned around. The train was even bigger up close, the red shine of it reflecting Connor’s face back at him. He scowled at the mirror-image, stubbornly looking away. He didn’t need to see himself, and he definitely didn’t want yet another reminder of how small and pitiful he looked compared to Conan.

They were ushered onto the train by an older wizard. The hall between compartments was narrow, too narrow to be comfortable. Conan poked his head into each compartment they walked past, looking for a sufficiently empty one. Connor shrank into himself as they pushed past another young wizard, ducking his head.

In the back of the train were the emptiest compartments. Conan hummed in satisfaction as he pulled back the sliding piece of plastic-looking glass and stepped inside the tiny partition. Connor followed, closing the ‘door’ behind him and settling down on the seat next to Conan, the seat that occupied the space right next to the window. He could see the wizarding families surrounding the train waving at their children, and he fought back a feeling of nausea, as well as something else, something unidentifiable.

Conan placed his owl’s cage on the seat across from them, and thankfully, Imperia had stopped squawking. Connor’s cat opened his eyes and lazily climbed up to perch himself on Connor’s shoulder, purring contentedly.

Conan glanced at Connor, expression warm. “Are you excited?” He asked. “In a few hours we’ll be at Hogwarts. _Hogwarts,_ Connor.”

Connor gave a small smile. “I am.” He said, and he tried his best to let it show. “And I _know,_ Conan.” Conan’s mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles, which was his equivalent of absolutely beaming in happiness. Connor felt a hint of pride at himself for making his brother so happy.

Conan nudged Connor’s shoulder in a rare display of playfulness. “Well, you’re not doing a very convincing job of being excited.” He said. “One might think you’re lying to them.”

“One should know me better by now.” Connor teased quietly, slightly cautious of how his brother would react. Conan’s smile grew the slightest bit, and Connor felt another rush of pride.

This was how things were supposed to be. Connor knew it. He _knew_ that this was what life should be like. These little moments with Conan that made him feel wanted, that made the tiny chorus of _failure, failure, failure,_ in the back of his mind fade away to a whisper. The happiness he felt at seeing his brother smile, the sense of pride knowing that _he’d done that_ , that he was the cause of his twin’s happiness. The fact that he was _allowed_ to smile, to make his brother smile. This was how things should be. And now, if everything went according to plan, this would be how things were, _forever._

The thought of it made the constant tension in Connor’s shoulders relax slightly. Although he would miss Amanda deeply, he would also appreciate being able to show more emotion around others, the ability to laugh with his brother and actually have proper conversations. It didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate Amanda, because he did, he really did, but he also appreciated being able to act out at times, being able to be just like the other pureblooded families he knew. It happened so rarely, of course, and even if acting out _was_ a possibility Connor limited it. He limited the amount of fun he had at all times, to make sure he never deviated from Amanda’s system completely.

The conductor announced the departure of the train, and Connor settled into his seat. He was grateful that nobody else had ended up in their compartment, because he wasn’t sure whether he would have been able to handle being stuck in a cramped space with a stranger.

It wasn’t until the train started moving that Connor realised he’d never actually been on one before. He’d also never been this far away from home before, either. Everything that was about to take place was all strange, uncharted new territory for him, and although that terrified him, it was also exhilarating. An adventure, if you would.

Connor let his eyes slip shut as the repetitive thrumming of the train’s movements lulled him into a sense of security. He didn’t expect to find himself falling asleep, but he also hadn’t expected to live until he was eight, either, so he was used to things not going to plan.

\- - -

Connor opened his eyes again a while later, blinking away the tired fuzz in his vision. He glanced sideways at Conan, who had his nose stuck in a book labelled ‘ _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ ’. Conan had always been interested in the magical creatures of the wizarding world, which Connor found intriguing.

The kitten, which Connor was inclined to name Hermes, was curled in his lap. A small sound escaped the feline’s jaws every now and then, and its tiny paws flexed in its slumber, claws extending and retracting rhythmically. The kitten’s warmth was comforting, but nowhere near as comforting as Conan’s presence beside him.

He turned his head to look out the window, taken aback by how different the landscape looked. The grassland was a deep emerald colour, maintained by heavy rainfall over the years, wind rustling the grass through expanses of rolling hills and slight valleys. Connor had the smallest urge to roll down one of the hills in the grass, but he dismissed it. The sun was shining through a slight fog, light grey clouds dotting the sky here and there. Connor realised that they were currently travelling through the wilderness of Scotland, which meant that he was no longer in his home country.

“You’re awake.” Conan observed. “Thought you’d gone and died before we could even get to Hogwarts.”

Connor flicked his gaze back to his twin, startled. Had Conan just made a _joke?_ That had never happened before. Amanda would have been absolutely disgusted by it.

_Amanda isn’t here._ A voice in his head chimed helpfully. Connor dismissed it. He gave his brother a slight smile and the quietest of scoffs, relishing the feeling of it being returned with less hesitance. Things outside of the house were already so different to their old lives, and it had only been three hours or so. Connor wondered what else could possibly happen while they were away from home.

“I don’t know why I fell asleep.” Connor admitted. His voice hadn’t changed with his behaviour. He still sounded quiet and timid, because those were still the dominant parts of his personality. “I hadn’t expected to.”

Conan shrugged. “I read somewhere that the movements of trains and other such muggle vehicles can be slightly hypnotic, to some.” He looked back down at his book, interest sparkling in his eyes. “Connor, did you know that being stung by a Billywig can make you levitate?”

“I did not.” Connor said. He’d never been as intrigued by magical creatures as his twin, but he always listened whenever Conan found out something interesting, because it was nice to hear his brother so enraptured by his findings. Conan rarely emoted, so it was always a good occasion whenever he got excited about something like this.

A sharp knock on the plexiglass door made Conan look up from his book. Connor flinched at the sudden noise that broke the comfortable quietude, gaze flicking cautiously to where the sound originated from.

Outside the compartment stood a scrawny boy around their age, with short, unruly brown hair and blue-grey eyes that reminded Connor of his twin. There was a scar twisting along the boy’s crooked nose, which travelled diagonally across his face and was lost in his scruffy hair. A permanent-looking sneer occupied his face, betraying to Connor that he was not to be trusted. Anybody who let such angry emotions occupy their expression was not somebody to allow into his life, unless they were able to carefully control such emotion.

The boy rapped on the door again, and Conan stood up—deliberately slowly, to advertise that the stranger was wasting their time and must have a good reason for it. Connor’s twin carefully opened the latch on the door, sliding it open just enough to speak to the stranger. Connor instinctively shrank away, staring pointedly out the window at the landscape whizzing past.

“What do you require?” Conan asked coolly, his voice betraying nothing. The boy seemed taken aback by Conan’s direct approach to speaking, but he quickly regained the sneering expression that Connor would have liked to wipe off of his face with a quick stunning spell.

“Name’s Gavin Reed.” The stranger said. His voice was predictably ugly-sounding. Connor hated it. “Got kicked out of my other compartment for yelling at a mudblood.”

Connor let some of the tension in his posture go. If the stranger was another pureblood, then he was safe to be around. No other respectable pureblooded wizard would dare harm a Stern.

“That doesn’t explain your presence.” Conan said, but his voice had lost some of its coldness, and he opened the door slightly more to peer out at the stranger—at Gavin.

“Heard you were the kid of somebody my parents know, which means you’re purebloods.” Gavin said. “So I came here to find a compartment that wasn’t infected by blood-traitors and mudbloods. Wanted to see if you’d let me in.”

The lack of the personal pronoun ‘I’ at the start of his sentences irritated Connor, but he didn’t turn to look at the newcomer, preferring to just listen and see how Conan handled things. He realised that if his twin did allow Gavin to sit in the compartment with them, it meant that Connor would have to talk to a stranger. Even if Gavin was a pureblood, it didn’t mean that Connor’s fight-or-flight instincts wouldn’t kick in immediately.

Conan seemed to ponder this for a while. “You may sit with us, if you so wish.” He said after a moment of silence. Connor stiffened but said nothing. He turned his head slightly to eye the newcomer as Conan stepped aside to let him enter.

Gavin met his gaze, and the look of surprise on his face was enough to make a slight sense of amusement appear in the back of Connor’s mind. Nobody ever expected them to look so similar.

“Shit, there’s two of you.” Gavin said as he sat heavily and sloppily on the seat across from the twins, evidently upsetting Imperia the owl, who gave an irritated squawk at being awoken so rudely. Connor narrowed his eyes at the use of the expletive. Amanda did not appreciate cursing in their household, claiming that it was a juvenile, inefficient way to win fights and arguments. Curses were much easier and less childish. Not to mention much more lethal. “What’re your names?”

Conan spoke. “My name is Conan Stern. This is my brother, Connor.” He sidled closer to Connor protectively, his blue eyes meeting Connor’s for a second to reassure him that no harm would come to him, as long as Conan was there.

Reed hummed in thought. “Stern? As in Amanda Stern?” No doubt he was well acquainted with Amanda, as she was one of the most well-known, respected pureblooded wizards in their circle. Connor recognised the surname Reed as the family that Amanda often met with to speak about missions and recruitments. She had been meeting with them earlier that day, had she not?

Conan nodded curtly. “And I suppose you’re Lillian Reed’s son. Is this information accurate?”

Reed smirked, making a coil of disgust form in Connor’s stomach, for reasons he didn’t understand. He wanted Gavin to stay as far away from Conan as was physically possible. “Yeah, that’s my mother for sure.”

At this admission, Conan visibly relaxed, his expression softening into something that could almost, _almost,_ be classified as ‘neutral’. Connor let himself sink back into the seat slightly, some of his suspicion leaving his mind. The Reeds were also a well-respected family, almost of a status as high as the Sterns. That meant that Gavin, although mean-looking and suspiciously smug, was an ally here. The first ally they’d met. Sadly, many wizards didn’t believe in the Dark Lord’s righteous cause, which was regrettable, as if you were not a supporter, you were an opponent, and being an opponent meant a long, painful death. Connor wished that other wizards weren’t so stupid, letting their useless empathy for the mudblood creatures get in the way of their logical mind.

Empathy was a terrible thing to hold dear. It only got in the way.

“Do you follow the path of the serpent?” Conan asked. The words were a way to gauge whether this Reed child was a believer of the Dark Lord’s mission, and whether or not he believed Slytherin to be the only respectable Hogwarts house. Connor listened carefully to make sure Gavin’s answer was not a lie. He had always been remarkable at telling when somebody was not telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth. People were so easily read when they were lying, but not so much when they weren’t.

Behaviours, Connor could decipher. Emotions, on the other hand, were much more difficult and complex.

Reed rolled his eyes, but nodded. “’Course I do. You’re not raised by a family like mine and come out a filthy traitor.”

Conan glanced at Connor, and the subtle twitch of his eyebrows was all it took to know he was asking whether Gavin was lying or not. Connor gave a miniscule shake of his head; Reed was being completely truthful. It had been improbable that he was not a follower of the Dark Lord in the first place, but it was always good to be cautious about these things. You never knew when somebody was an undercover blood-traitor using you for information.

_Trust only yourself._ One of the first lessons Amanda had taught them. Connor had quickly learned to be suspicious of anybody new; the only two people he truly trusted were Amanda and Conan.

“So,” Gavin started, completely oblivious to the twins’ love for silence. “Your brother mute or what?” His scathing gaze flicked over to Connor, the slightest hint of mockery in his tone. Connor felt Conan stiffen next to him once again, fingers curling into fists in his lap.

“No.” Conan said. He glanced at Connor. “He’s merely observant. He probably already knows exactly where your weakest spots are, and has most likely figured out three different ways to neutralise you, if you so happen to be a threat.”

It was a cleverly disguised warning. Reed seemed to understand, as he raised his hands in the air and shrugged his shoulders, a classic declaration of innocence. Though he still looked slightly smugly amused. Connor wanted to punch him and break his already crooked nose.

“Okay, then.” Gavin said. “Why doesn’t he tell me what those different tactics would be, then?”

Connor scowled at him, though he probably looked pitiful, at best. Conan nudged him gently, signalling at him to speak. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay silent and continue his silent observations, but he knew he was required to speak in order to gain dominance.

“Y-You have a limp.” Connor stated quietly, wincing as Reed’s grey eyes once again met his own. Prolonged eye contact was uncomfortable for him. His heartrate sped up slightly, and he continued hastily, “your left leg is weak; it would be e-easily disabled. You are wearing a tie that could effortlessly be used to either r-restrain you or asphyxiate you. There are two of us, and you are...and you are alone. We w-would easily overpower you.”

He hated his stutter. He hated the fact that speaking to strangers made him so small and nervous looking. He hated his harmless face, his quiet voice. He _despised_ the fact that nobody took him seriously enough to actually be intimidated by him. It was unfair.

A beat of silence, and then Gavin gave a reluctant laugh. Connor blinked.

“Jesus, you were actually serious, huh?” Reed crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “You got me. But the cat sleeping in your lap kind of takes away from the whole ‘deranged murderer’ shtick. How did you even notice my limp? Nobody else does.”

Conan gave Connor a smile, which lessened his anxiety and made a warmth bloom in his chest in its wake. “I told you he was observant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I gave Connor a kitten but it's an adorable idea so I'm sticking with it.


	4. Hogwarts Express pt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Jericrew™ appears!

If somebody had told Markus that his week would start off with his father telling him he was a wizard, and then tell him that he was going to a specialised wizarding school, he would have laughed in their face, disbelieving.

He still wasn’t sure he believed it.

Yet here he was, at a magical train station with a trolley-full of magical luggage and a magical wand. Life worked in strange ways.

Cole and Hank had offered to take him to the train station, where the magical ride to Hogwarts was apparently situated. Strange that a magic train would be kept at a completely muggle station. Markus had no idea how the wizards maintaining their world’s secrecy managed to pull that off. In his experience, Markus knew that muggles had a habit of noticing strange things, even if those things were stupid and unimportant. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind that a muggle child would have immediately noticed a bunch of people in pointed hats and long robes climbing onto a singular train. He knew he would have, had he ever come to the station prior.

Markus never really used trains to get around. They were very difficult for wheelchair-bound people to use, which meant that Carl usually opted for other modes of public transport, or, more often than not, never left the house at all. Markus had spent the best part of his short life at Carl’s side, when he wasn’t attending muggle school, which meant that he’d never gotten to enjoy going outside with his family the same way that his few friends had. He’d visited parks and stuff with Carl before, of course, but he was always keeping a cautious eye on his father, making sure everything was okay. He was usually in a constant state of worry, subsequently, and the fact that he was going to be away from Carl for a year was still making him anxious. He just couldn’t get the thought of coming home to horrible, shattering news out of his mind, and it scared him to know that his dad was all alone in the house without him, unable to do anything without the assistance of a friend or hired caretaker.

It wasn’t like he could turn back now, though. He had his own wand, and a set of robes, as well as countless books on the wizarding world. He was waist-deep in these strange new waters, and there was no going back. He was a wizard, through and through.

That didn’t mean he didn’t still think other wizards were freaking _weird,_ however.

To get to the Hogwarts Express they’d had to run into a stone wall at top-speed, pushing their luggage trolleys in front of them like maniacs. Markus was thankful that the entrance seemed to be charmed, so no muggles could see him absolutely screaming as he hurtled towards a slab of stone column only to pass straight through and suddenly be transported to a train platform.

Cole and Hank seemed to enjoy watching Markus lose his mind over and over again, which he thanked them for gruffly after falling flat on his face as he was seemingly teleported to a strange train station. Hank was laughing, and so was Cole as he helped Markus to his feet, retrieving a small box that had fallen from Markus’ trolley during the bizarre transportation.

“Do all wizard transport thingies feel like that?” Markus asked as he dusted himself off. If so, he wondered how on earth they got used to it. He’d felt as though somebody had spun him around seventeen times and thrown him off a cliff.

Not an entirely unpleasant feeling, but very disorienting.

“Not all of them,” Hank told him, amusement still clear in his expression. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, blue eyes glittering. “I mean, we’re about to board a train, like muggles. It’s not an especially magical journey.”

Markus rolled his eyes and sidestepped to avoid being trampled by a disgruntled-looking wizard, with oddly colourful robes, who was carrying a cage that contained an absolutely huge owl. The platform was bustling with activity, thousands of wizarding families gathering to bid farewell to their children. Markus wondered why Hank and Cole’s parents hadn’t come with them, but he thought it might not be the best idea to ask, so he didn’t.

“There’s more people than usual.” Hank muttered under his breath. He glanced at Cole and Markus and sighed as he saw Cole’s excited bouncing. “Let’s go. Better to reserve a compartment for ourselves before we’re forced into one with a bunch of goddamn _Slytherins.”_

They dropped off their less valuable luggage to be stored in a specialised storage container in some magical pocket dimension. Markus looked around at his surroundings as they were herded onto the train, noting how diverse the crowds were, how many different faces looked back at him. It was insane, knowing that a whole different community, a whole different _world,_ had been inhabiting the planet for his whole life, and he’d only learnt about it five days ago. So many magical lives had been living under the surface, hidden away from the muggles. It was difficult to think about without getting a sense of weird vertigo, realising that the world was so much bigger than he’d previously thought.

It was also wonderfully fascinating.

The inside of the train consisted of a narrow walkway dividing sets of small compartments, some of which were already occupied by young wizards. Markus peered through one of the plexiglass dividers and saw a young girl with wide hazel eyes staring back at him, one of her hands raising to give him the finger, her full-lipped mouth twitching into an amused smirk. He flinched away from her intense gaze and followed the Anderson brothers as they sought out an empty compartment.

In another compartment, three young wizards were comparing their wands. One of them, a young boy with pale skin, sandy-blond hair and wide blue eyes, looked up at him and gave a small smile and a slight wave. Markus waved back, and the other boy beamed. The other two boys, one of them seemingly a twin brother of the first, and another who was tall and dark, just ignored him.

“Ah, here we are.” Hank said, throwing one of the sliding dividers open and plopping himself heavily in the seat. Cole sat down next to him, eyes wide with anticipation. Markus sat himself on the plush cushioning of the seat across from the two other boys after closing the divider, immediately scooting to look out the window at the crowd of waving wizards still standing on the platform.

“How long’s the trip?” Markus asked as he settled down.

Hank thought about this for a moment. “Like…eight or nine hours? Something like that. We _are_ going to Scotland, you know.”

Markus nodded. He’d never been to Scotland before, but he’d heard that the landscape was absolutely beautiful, and that there was a lot of rain. That didn’t matter to him very much; he was from London, so he was used to a lot of rain. Living in London, you only really got one or two weeks of sun every year, but Markus liked rain, so he was fine with it. He liked settling down on the couch with a blanket and listening to the distant patter of rain on the roof, being read stories of fantastical creatures by Carl.

Markus guessed that now that he was aware of the wizarding world he knew the reasoning behind Carl’s fascination with all things magical. His whole life, he’d been fed stories and ideas of something bigger than himself, mystical forces that controlled the world. It was all supposed to be just that: a mindless, entertaining fantasy, something to lose yourself in the idea of. It had never dawned on Markus that it could actually be true, but once again, here he was.

Cole was chatting away about something to do with broomsticks, the curious word ‘ _Quidditch’_ coming up in every second sentence. Markus tried his best to follow along, but he really had no idea what his new friend was saying. Cole and Hank had explained the basics of the wizarding world to him, but he still had a _lot_ to learn.

Hank had taken the time to explain several different spells that he would need to learn during his first year. Namely: Lumos, Wingardium Leviosa, Alohomora and a few others. The older wizard had given Markus a brief rundown of each spell and what it was used for, for which he was grateful. The thought of actually casting a spell was exhilarating, the thought of that power coursing through his body once again and for that power to actually _do_ something.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t as worried about Carl as he’d been a few minutes ago.

As the train started to move, Markus leaned back in his seat and looked out the window, watching people’s faces blur into a mess of colour. He joined in on some of the conversations, mainly whenever Cole asked him about a muggle thing, but he mostly stayed silent and listened, trying to understand the words that were coming from Cole’s mouth.

Partway through the train ride, Cole started rummaging through his carry-on luggage. He muttered under his breath as he searched for whatever it was that he wanted, and then he gave a satisfied little ‘ _yes!’_ before producing a tiny leather pouch.

It had probably been four hours or so, and Markus was wondering whether there would be a dinner or something as soon as they got to Hogwarts, because he was getting hungry. He wished he’d brought some food with him, even if it had been a few dry crackers or something. He was absolutely starving. Evidently, Cole felt the same way.

As soon as he found it, Cole thrust the leather pouch into Hank’s hands and looked up at his older brother pleadingly. “ _Haaaank_ ,” he said, drawing out the word into a whine. “I’m hungry! Can you go get some food from the trolley lady?”

Thank god for Cole.

Hank glared at him, but there was still affection in his eyes. “And why can’t _you_ do this?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Markus hid his smile at Hank’s longsuffering sigh. The older wizard ran a hand over his face. “You know you’re gonna have to grow up and do this for yourself at some point, right? Why not start now?”

“’Cause you’re here now, and you’re the oldest, so you have to do it.” Cole smiled sweetly up at him. “ _Please,_ Hanky-Panky? Just this once?”

Markus sniggered at the nickname, which made Cole’s eyes light up with joy. Hank just shot him a mildly irritated look but said nothing, instead focusing all of his bitter energy at his younger brother.

“Not if I ever hear you call me that again.” Hank said. He was silent for a few more moments before begrudgingly replying, “Fine. Just this once, Cole, and then you’re buying all _my_ stuff for a change.”

“Doubt it.”

Hank grumbled something under his breath that contained a few more curses than necessary, throwing the divider open to stalk out and search for sweet treats like the good brother he was. Cole watched him leave, a smugly satisfied smirk written across his soft features. His bright blue eyes flicked over to address Markus.

“I really want to show you all the cool sweets you’ve missed out on.” Cole said. He started to list them off on his fingers. “Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Acid Pops, Pumpkin Pasties, Liquorice Wands, Chocolate Frogs—”

“We have Chocolate Frogs in the muggle world.” Markus told him. “They’re one of my favourite sweets.”

Cole blinked, confused. “You have Chocolate Frogs?”

Markus could remember buying one every time he’d go out shopping with Carl. He remembered when his father would surprise him with one of the chocolates after he’d had a bad day at school, or if he got injured. Chocolate Frogs had become an omen of happiness and hope for him, a sort of message that everything was going fine. They were a comfort food.

Chocolate had always been his favourite, anyway. He’d never been one for sour candies or things you had to either suck on or chew too much. Chocolate was the middle ground between sweet and bitter. It was much better than any of the cheap candies that old women kept in the bottom of their purses.

“Well, yeah. They’re pretty normal around where I live. You can find them at every store.” Markus shrugged. “I guess muggles and wizards don’t do _everything_ so differently, huh?”

Cole tilted his head, seeming as though he was calculating something behind those warm blue eyes of his. Markus wasn’t the best at reading people, but he could tell that Cole was confused. He still looked doubtful, but when Cole spoke again it was an agreement. “I guess so.”

There was a hint of… _something_ in his voice that made Markus feel as though somebody was playing a prank on him. It was the kind of mischievous lilt to his words that Markus remembered Carl always having whenever he was doing something stupid.

Markus glanced out the window and saw that it had started to rain lightly. “What’s Quidditch?” He asked in an attempt to make conversation. He did want to know. When Cole had been talking about it earlier, it had been with great enthusiasm. Markus wondered if it was something he would get to learn at Hogwarts.

Cole perked up at the question. “Oh! Did I not explain it to you?” At the shake of Markus’ head, he continued, “it’s a sport that you play on broomsticks in the air. You have to score points through the goals while avoiding falling off your broom. Hank and I used to play in the back garden; it was really fun. There’s a bunch of really famous teams that play, and one day I want to be a part of one.”

Markus blinked. Broomstick sports. Wow. Yet another thing that Markus had definitely not expected from his new magical life. Riding broomsticks, that was fine, but playing sports on them? Kind of awesome. “You play sports in the air? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not with magic, it’s not.” Cole pointed out happily. “Also, people who play are really good at riding broomsticks, so they barely ever fall off. There’s Quidditch teams for every house in Hogwarts, so I wanna join the team for whatever house I end up getting sorted into.”

“Does Hank play for Ravenclaw?”

Cole shook his head. “No. He likes to watch, but not play. He’s way too lazy to go to practice twice a week. He only used to play with me because I really wanted to, and he wanted to make me happy. I haven’t played in forever, though, because my mum isn’t well and my dad doesn’t want to risk either of us getting hurt too.”

“Oh.” That explained the fact that neither of Cole’s parents had showed up today. By the looks of it, Hank had taken over responsibility, even though he was only two years older than Cole. Markus felt bad for them. Sure, he may have only had one parent, who was also disabled, but at least he had somebody older to take care of him.

“Don’t feel bad.” Cole said airily, waving him off. “It’s fine. Mum’s gonna pull through, and besides, I’ve got Hank. Dad didn’t say anything about not playing Quidditch at school, so I’m gonna do it.”

Markus hesitated for a second. “Should I try to play? Playing sport a hundred feet in the air sounds really fun, and if you’re telling the truth when you say it’s not dangerous, then I feel like I’d enjoy it.”

Cole bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yeah! You should totally try out. We have to wait until second year to play, though, because first year is when flying lessons are mandatory, and Quidditch is too advanced for most first years anyway. Ohhh, what if we’re in the same house and we can join the team together? That would be fun, right?”

“Definitely.”

Before Cole could say anything else, Hank came back. Markus immediately felt a rush of excitement at the prospect of food; he really was famished. Hank slipped into the compartment and threw a brown paper bag into Cole’s lap, grumbling.

“There you go, you annoying little shit.” He muttered as Cole curiously peered into the bag, surveying the contents. Then he must have noticed Markus wince at the expletive and shot him an apologetic look.

“Ooooh, you got a bit of everything!” Cole exclaimed happily. “Thanks, Hank!”

“I know how picky you are, and I wasn’t sure what Markus would like,” Hank said with a slight shrug. He turned to glance out into the hallway for a second, pale blue eyes glittering. “Okay, I’m gonna go find some of my old friends and hang with them for a while. You’ll be fine, right?”

Markus nodded silently, and Cole rolled his eyes. “Yup. We’re not babies, Hank. We’ll be fine.”

“Says the one who made me buy his food for him.” Hank said. He gave a sigh—Markus had figured out that Hank sighed a _lot_ —and then a small wave as he left the compartment to go find these mysterious friends. Cole practically jumped into the empty seat next to Markus in order to share the newly-acquired sweets with him.

Cole laid out all of the sweets on the empty part of the seat between them, grouping the lollies together in separate piles to be examined. Markus felt his mouth watering as he surveyed the large collection of sweets. They all looked pretty normal, nothing too ‘wizardy’ in there, just normal looking candies that Markus really wanted to eat.

Cole pointed at a few small blue boxes and smiled. “These are the Chocolate Frogs. In every one you get a collectable card that has a famous wizard on it. I used to collect them, but I stopped after I kept only getting Dumbledore’s card.”

Markus reached out and grabbed one of the boxes, tearing it open hungrily. Inside was a large Chocolate Frog, much more detailed than the chocolates sold in the pitiful muggle candy stores. It didn’t look too magical, which made Markus feel proud of the fact that muggles were just as good as wizards in the sweets department.

Just as he was about to pick up the chocolate, however, the frog _jumped._

Thinking it was just the jostling of the train, at first, Markus tried to grab it again. Once again it gave a slight jump, and this time he saw its legs move, completely animated, fluid in its movements as if it were actually alive.

“What the—”

Markus could only stare, transfixed, as the frog seemingly came to life, jumping up to latch onto the window, giving a mighty ribbit. Markus jumped to catch it, but it leaped away from him once again, not appreciating the thought of being eaten today. Cole burst into laughter at the look on Markus’ face, obviously enjoying it.

“Do you really have _these_ in the muggle world?” Cole teased as he reached up to snag the frog from the window and passed it back to Markus after it had stopped moving.

“Okay, we don’t have ones that _move.”_ Markus muttered. He looked down at the frog’s head and winced. “This is gross now that I’ve seen it move. It’s not just an actual brown frog, right? I’m not gonna bite into it and find guts, right?”

Cole laughed. “Of course not! It’s just a charm. That would be disgusting, if it was a real frog.”

Markus still stared down at it, apprehensive, and Cole sighed.

“If you’re not gonna eat it, I will.”

Markus shook his head and stuffed the frog in his mouth as soon as Cole reached out to take it from him. It tasted just like normal chocolate, which he was very grateful for. If it had been anything along the lines of ‘frog-flavoured’, he would have had some things to say.

Cole rolled his eyes and took his own frog from the pile. As soon as he opened the box, he grabbed the frog between his hands, gripping it around the middle until it stopped flailing. He took a bite out of it, and Markus winced, but the inside was the same smooth, milky brown as the outside. Just a solid, frog-shaped chocolate, nothing to be grossed out by.

“What card did you get?” Cole asked through a mouthful of frog. Markus turned over the blue box in his hand and found a small, hexagonal card lying face down on the bottom. He gently removed it and turned it over in his hands, trying to read out the wizard’s name without completely butchering it.

“Uh, Sal—Salazar Slytherin?”

At the mention of the wizard’s name, a picture of said wizard appeared on the surface, and it started to _move._ The sour-looking man in the portrait shifted around and posed as though he was getting his photo taken. Markus watched him in awe.

“That’s the founder of the Slytherin house at Hogwarts.” Cole informed him. “Nasty piece of work, he was. But they all are.”

Salazar glared at him, and then walked out of the frame as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Who did you get?” Markus asked as Cole took his own card in his hands.

Cole heaved a heavy sigh. “ _Another_ Dumbledore. I reckon I’ve got like ten of him, now. Only other wizard I have is Godric Gryffindor.” He shook his head disapprovingly.

“We can swap, if you want.” Markus offered, holding out the Salazar Slytherin card. “I don’t think I like the look of this dude, anyway.”

Cole beamed at him. “Oh, awesome! Thanks, Markus.” He swapped cards with Markus, stuffing the Salazar card back into his satchel. He then grabbed a handful of little liquorice pieces and shoved them in his mouth inelegantly, humming contentedly around a mouthful of sticky black substance. Markus followed suit, his sweet-tooth craving sustenance.

After a few minutes of gorging themselves on sweets, a knock at the plexiglass divider made Markus look up.

The same blond, blue-eyed boy from before was standing outside the door, his posture timid. His hands were shoved low in his pockets, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed his nervousness.

Cole jumped to his feet to open the door. “Hi!”

The other boy gave a shy smile. “Hey,” he said. He had a soft voice, one that could easily pass as female. “My name’s S-Simon. I was wondering if…if you’d spare some of those sweets for me and my friends? It’s okay if you don’t want to, it’s not like I’m desperate or anything, I just—”

He stammered, his sentence trailing off nervously. Markus was reminded of one of those tiny rodents from the desert—Jerboas, he was pretty sure—the ones with the big eyes and the spindly limbs and the nervous-looking faces. He was the same kind of cute as a Jerboa; small and timid.

Markus smiled at him, and after a nod from Cole, he spoke. “How about you bring your friends in here and we can all share?”

Simon’s eyes lit up. “Really? Thank you! I’ll be right back.” He hurried back to his own compartment, and returned only a few seconds later with his twin and his other friend at his side.

Cole stepped aside to let them inside the compartment. Simon sat himself nervously on the seat across from Markus and Cole, his twin and his friend following suit next to him.

“I’m Cole.” Cole said, holding out his hand. “This is my friend Markus. We’re first years.”

The tall, dark-skinned boy shook Cole’s hand, giving a small smile. “I’m Josh. This is Daniel, and you know Simon already. We’re first years too.”

Daniel seemed like the opposite of Simon. A lot less nervous looking, less small in stature. His face was the slightest bit wider, too, and he was far less spindly than his brother.

“How’d you get your hands on so many sweets?” Daniel asked, eyeing the lollies greedily. “I tried to buy some and the trolley lady wouldn’t let me.”

“That’s because you tried to steal them, not buy them,” Josh muttered. He gave Cole and Markus an exasperated look. “I don’t know how I ended up talking to these two, but I get the feeling that the only thing that’s similar about them is their faces.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. Markus and Cole exchanged glances.

Cole laid the wide selection of sweets out on the overturned surface of his carry-on trunk, which served as an unsteady table. Markus saw Simon’s eyes light up with muffled glee as he watched, and Daniel’s greedy expression only doubled. Josh said nothing, but he licked his lips as the last of the lollies was laid out.

“It’s a feast!” Cole declared, opening his arms theatrically. Markus rolled his eyes at Simon, who blinked and then shyly returned it.

The five of them started hungrily shovelling sweets into their mouths, like any eleven-year-old boys would when presented with such a wide variety of lollies. Markus discovered that he loved the Liquorice Wands and absolutely hated Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans after biting into one that was apparently ‘earthworm flavour’.

“Gah!” Markus cried, spitting out the foul tasting jellybean on the floor of the compartment and furiously scrubbing at his mouth. “That’s disgusting! It tastes like a rotten garden!”

The others dissolved into giggles, which only grew louder as Daniel got a bean that was—according to him—the most foul, revolting thing he’d ever put in his mouth. One glance at the packet and they found out that it had been earwax flavour, which made Markus bark a laugh.

“Who even makes _earwax flavoured jellybeans?_ ” Daniel cried, indignant. He’d been scrubbing at his tongue for the past five minutes, and had yet to shut up about the traumatising experience. “What git decided that making a sweet earwax flavoured was a good idea?”

“Bertie Bott.” Simon pointed out, eliciting a smirk from Josh and another laugh from both Markus and Cole. Daniel just glared at his brother before grabbing a jellybean for Simon to try.

“Go on, then, if you’re so great.” Daniel said, holding out the bean. Simon rolled his eyes and took it from his twin, popping it into his mouth a small, satisfied smile.

After a few seconds of chewing, Simon grinned. “Watermelon!” He exclaimed, shooting a smug look at his brother. “Take that, Danny!”

Daniel groaned. “This is unfair. Game’s rigged.”

That was the last thing he said for hours, opting to watch the rest of them continue, silently fuming. Cole, Markus, Simon and Josh kept going, making a fun Russian Roulette-esque game out of the beans. They took it in turns, and eventually Markus got a marshmallow-flavoured bean, the first good one he’d gotten throughout the whole game. Simon didn’t get a singular bad one, which made Josh suspicious.

“You’re cheating.” Josh said. “What are your secrets, Simon?”

Simon just smiled and shook his head. “Can’t tell you, otherwise it won’t be as fun.” 

“He has a point.” Cole mumbled around a mouthful of food. Markus laughed at the annoyed look on Josh’s face.

Things went on like that for a while longer, and Markus found himself growing proud of the ease with which he’d managed to find friends. At all of the muggle schools he’d been to, people generally stayed away from him or made mean comments about the fact that his father was wheelchair-bound, but these four other wizards were all so nice to him. Even when he did have muggle friends, the relationships were short-lived, generally fizzling away as soon as the other kids found somebody better, somebody who wasn’t a second-rate. He’d expected to be alone for at least the first two years of Hogwarts, but now he was sitting with four other kids, all his age, all entirely friendly, sharing food and laughing together.

It definitely made him feel warm all over, the fact that these other people wanted to be near him and play stupid little games until they all passed out from laughing. Not only did he feel happy, but all of his previous worries had dissolved in his laughter, and they didn’t make a show of returning any time soon. He was grateful for that, knowing that worrying about Carl the whole time he was at Hogwarts would have grated on both him and these newfound friends.

“What house do you guys think you’ll get sorted into?” Josh asked after they’d settled down. The sun was slowly dipping in the sky, signalling that they would arrive in about an hour and a half.

Cole shrugged. “My brother’s in Ravenclaw. I don’t know if that changes anything, but,” he popped another candy into his mouth, “I feel like I’ll end up in Hufflepuff or in Ravenclaw with Hank.”

Markus could see that happening. Judging by Cole’s curious, inquisitive nature, he was probably as much of a Ravenclaw as Hank. But he was also friendly, and outgoing, and he seemed like a loyal friend to have, which could end up landing him in Hufflepuff. He wondered how the houses were even chosen. Was there somebody there who could read minds and personalities who decided?

Daniel nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. I feel like I’m gonna get Gryffindor, or maybe Slytherin. I could go either way, honestly.”

Josh made a face. “Slytherin? Seriously? Here’s hoping you don’t end up stuck in that snake pit.” Then he thought for a second. “I feel like I’m more of a Ravenclaw than anything.”

“I’m definitely gonna get put in Hufflepuff.” Simon said. “I mean, I’m not brave, or smart, or ambitious, and I certainly am not gonna be able to do all the crazy things that everyone talks about doing at Hogwarts. I’m a Hufflepuff, through and through.”

Markus tilted his head. “Do twins get separated into different houses, or do they generally stick together?”

Josh was the one who answered. “It depends on how similar the twins are, personality-wise. Simon and Daniel are pretty different, so it’s likely they’ll be put in different houses. Some twins are exactly the same, though, so they’re put in the same house.”

“What about you, Markus?” Simon asked, hastily changing the subject that he was obviously uncomfortable with. “Which house do you think you’ll be put into?”

Markus pursed his lips and thought for a second. He could, quite honestly, see himself going into any of the four houses. Sure, Slytherin would definitely be unpleasant, judging by what he’d heard about it, but he had some of the traits that Cole had told him were associated with the house. Ambition, cunning, those sorts of things. He’d prefer to be put in Gryffindor, though, or maybe even Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw sounded difficult, because according to Cole, the only way to get into the common room was to solve a riddle, and Markus was atrocious at riddles.

“Uh, I think I’d be a Gryffindor.” Markus said. “But I don’t really know. I guess none of us will actually know until we’re put in the actual house, will we?”

Murmurs of agreement from all four of the others. Markus was about to say something about what subjects they were most looking forward to when the small tawny-haired girl from the compartment earlier forced the divider open and poked her head through into the compartment.

“Yo, put your robes on.” She barked at them bossily. “We’ve got thirty minutes to go.”

They all nodded and she left, giving Markus a glare before turning and stalking back to her own compartment, or maybe to boss some other people around, who knew? All Markus cared about was the fact that he was thirty minutes away from his new life, thirty minutes away from being a real wizard enrolled in a real wizard school.

Half an hour, and his life would change forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, I honest to god have no idea how I'm writing these so fast. Like, literally three days have come and gone and now I'm putting out yet another chapter of this shitshow. I have a crazy amount of motivation and I'm really happy that other people are reading my trash, so...thank you.
> 
> Second of all, Simon is a cinnamon bun and must be protected at all costs.


	5. The Arrival of the Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins get to Hogwarts. Connor fears replacement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I apologise in advance for how cluttered and all over the place this chapter might seem. It was a really hard chapter to get out, but I managed to finish it in the end!

“Ay! All you firs’ years, come with me!” A large—too large to be human—man was yelling as they departed the train. Bearded and tall, broad shoulders that were concealed by a heavy brown coat. He gestured at a grouping of magical boats sitting on the surface of the waters surrounding the castle. “We’re takin’ the scenic route!”

Connor’s legs were still weak from sitting down for so long. It took him a moment to adjust to being outside once again, and he stood still for a few seconds, surveying his surroundings, watching the older wizards depart in carriages that were drawn by what looked like shadowy monster-horses. Thin, draconic wings jutted out from the horses’ bony spines, their mottled, zombie-like skin stretched much too thin over fragile skeletons. They looked much less inviting than the boats.

After having a second to readjust, Conan took Connor’s hand and dragged him towards the gargantuan man, with Reed following closely behind. The other young wizard had quickly taken a liking to the twins—Conan more than Connor—and he’d been talking non-stop ever since they met on the train. Connor still didn’t trust him, but at least Gavin was being civil, even if he was getting too friendly with Conan too quickly. They’d discussed meaningless things for a while; Quidditch, Defence against the Dark Arts, the properties of wand cores, and Connor had quickly learned that Gavin was one of the least educated wizards about most of the things that he and Conan had been taught as children. He wondered briefly whether Reed’s parents were even the slightest bit competent at teaching, and then concluded from the evidence presented that Gavin was most likely just apathetic towards schoolwork and learning. The thought grated on him.

Still, Connor’s nerves had died down to a bearable anxiety, coiled deep in his chest. It never really went away, but it ebbed every now and then. Getting to know Reed had helped his fear of meeting others fade slightly, and even though he still disliked the other wizard, he was grateful that meeting him had helped him to adjust to what life was going to be like for the next few years.

Connor clutched the kitten, which he had definitively decided to name Hermes, to his chest with his free hand, feeling the feline start to squirm at the sudden movements. Conan had left Imperia’s wire cage with his luggage to be taken into the school along with all the other students, but Connor hadn’t wanted to leave his new pet alone, so he’d hidden Hermes under the light fabric of his robes. It was easy to do so, as both he and the kitten were small and inconspicuous, and he was also used to hiding things. The warmth and pressure of a living, breathing animal curled on his chest was comforting.

Up close, the man ushering the hordes of young wizards onto the boats was even larger. Connor was already smaller than most of the other first years, but under the shadow of this giant he felt even smaller, even meeker. If it weren’t for the wide grin on the man’s grizzled face, Connor would have been completely terrified.

“’Ello,” the man said as they got to him. His voice was gruff and loud, and he used hand gestures while speaking as though talking in some barbaric form of muggle sign language. “Three to a boat, and don’ worry about movin’ it yourself, they’re self-driving, see.”

Conan looked up at him and nodded, contempt in his icy gaze. “Thank you, _Sir.”_

Connor didn’t miss the mockery clear in his tone, but it seemed to go straight over the giant’s head, because his grin just widened and he waved them over to one of the small boats. Connor heard Gavin scoff under his breath, and was inclined to do the same.

Gavin, Conan and Connor climbed into the boat. Conan drew Connor close and kept an arm firmly around his shoulders. It was getting cold, and the warm glow of the sun had long since disappeared into the indigo sky. A stubborn shower of light rain held up, scattering glittering droplets of water over Connor and his companions. He wished he were inside, curled up in his bed, listening to the rain lashing against the windows and the sounds of Conan breathing as he slept.

Instead, he was stuck outside in the cold, wet weather. He usually didn’t mind a spot of rain; it was always something comforting, the sounds and the muffled lights suffocating in _just_ the right way. The absence of thunder was always a benefit, too.

Today, though, he was already on-edge, and the unrelenting barrage of cold droplets was irritating him, bringing him to the brink of a sensory overload.

The armada of boats started moving with a jolt, eliciting chatter of excitement from the other first years. Connor watched as they started to drift through the black water, illuminated by warm lanterns that hung off the bow of the boats. Orange light spilled from the lanterns, lighting up the streaks of rain that fell heavily into the water. Connor’s gaze was immediately drawn to the castle, to _Hogwarts_ , seeing it in all of its magical splendour.

To say that the castle was enormous would be a severe understatement. Even from a distance, Connor could tell it was the biggest building he’d ever seen. It looked like the biggest building in the world, but then again, Connor hadn’t seen much of the world before today. Countless tall spires brushed the clouds, warm light emanating from each of the thousands of windows dotting the stone walls. There was a bridge connecting the castle to the land, where the other, older students would be arriving on their carriages. Connor imagined exploring the depths of the dungeons, and he could almost smell the damp stone walls, feel the cold ground under his feet, could almost see the soft green glow of the Slytherin common room, the light bouncing off the glistening stone. His imaginations grounded him once again, and up until then he hadn’t been aware that he was drifting away in the first place. His mind did that sometimes, disconnected from his body at seemingly random intervals, left him teetering on the edge of something hazy and grey, something he had yet to understand. Amanda had always gotten frustrated whenever he would zone out while being taught something important, and it had always earned him a quick punishment. It was okay, though, because Conan had always been there to bring him back from the brink of…whatever it was.

Conan’s icy gaze was also fixed on the castle, excitement glittering in his pale blue irises. His left leg bounced impatiently, and the hand that wasn’t resting around Connor’s shoulders tapped a rhythm on his thigh. Both of the twins had the same sorts of anxious habits, the same little fidgeting motions that they used to calm themselves when they were excited or nervous. Connor did it more often, but Conan was also restless at times, finding ways to keep himself otherwise occupied while he tried not to think too much about something, or whenever he just needed to get some of his energy out.

Gavin was staring down into the dark water, something malevolent in his eyes. “Y’know, they say a monster lives in this water.” He said, voice low and wicked, as though he were sharing a conspiracy that nobody wanted them to know. “A monster with tentacles that’ll grab you from these boats and drag you into the depths and _drown you_.”

Connor was never one to be afraid of such immature thoughts. He was afraid of lots of things, sure, but not imaginary threats fantasised by a childish being such as Gavin. “I doubt that the h-headmaster would allow—would allow us to cross the water if that were t-the case.” He pointed out.

Conan nodded along in agreement, and Gavin sighed.

“You’re no fun.” He complained loudly, hands smacking down on his thighs in mock frustration. Connor was about to apologise when Reed looked up, and he saw the glint of mischievousness still present in the other wizard’s grey eyes. “But still, what if it _was_ true? Wouldn’t it be a good thing? It could weed out the weak and the mudbloods, while preserving the strong, pureblooded wizards who actually _deserve_ to be here.”

Conan hummed his agreement. “That would be quite ideal, although a little inefficient.”

Connor said nothing. He was cold, wet, and exhausted from being on the brink of a panic attack all day. He just wanted to crawl in bed and sleep for a while. Maybe forever. The black abyss that swirled around their tiny boat was sloshing at the sides of the wooden vessel as the wind picked up, and every now and then Connor would get splashed by yet another source of irritating wetness.

“D’you reckon they even let mudbloods into Slytherin?” Gavin mused aloud. “They really shouldn’t, if they’re so against the dirty blood-traitors getting punished. I imagine any _true_ Slytherin purebloods would be disgusted by having to share a dorm with those creatures.”

“I agree.” Conan said. “The headmaster is truly incompetent, if he actually believes that the blood-traitors and the mudbloods belong in a house as pureblooded and regal as Slytherin.”

The two dissolved into a conversation regarding the topic. Connor sighed dejectedly, pointedly not looking in Gavin’s direction. If Reed wanted to discuss the culling of mudbloods openly with Conan, there was little Connor could do to stop them. It was, of course, the only subject that Conan would have a full conversation about, other than certain species of magical creature.

It wasn’t that Connor didn’t have opinions on the topic, of course, it was just that discussing such a thing with Reed was bound to be loud and irritating, and he wasn’t sure whether he could take any more of the other wizard’s frustrating voice.

Connor let Hermes the cat climb up to peek out from the collar of his robes, surprised that the feline would want to be in the rain more than him. Hermes gave a small chirrupy sound and rubbed his tiny face against Connor’s cheek in an attempt to get more attention. Greedy creature.

He absently reached up a hand to stroke under the kitten’s ear, still watching the castle grow closer. The giant man who had ushered them onto the boats was in one himself, at the front of the fleet. The biggest, brightest lantern was attached to the bow of the boat, leading the rest of them towards the castle that loomed above. It was a mystical scene, the darkness of the water, the sky, the barrage of rain, all illuminated by bright orange lanterns and the windows of a castle before them, as though dozens of fiery wisps danced in the night.

It looked like an image from an old book that Conan would have found in their personal library, a book that he and his brother would have stayed up reading together in a stormy, thunder-filled night when Connor was too afraid to sleep.

The wand he had obtained earlier that day jutted uncomfortably into his stomach underneath his robes. He shifted, reminded suddenly of why he was here. It wasn’t to learn magic and hone his skills; he could do that easily at home with Amanda and Conan. No, he had a mission, a mission he had to accomplish with his brother at his side to further strengthen their bond. Find the headmaster and look for weaknesses in the system.

If it weren’t for the mission, Connor wouldn’t be here. He would have been at home, practicing duelling with his mother and his twin.

The boats at the front of the fleet started to drift into a large opening in the rocks under the castle, which turned out to be a large tunnel. The warm light from the lanterns bounced off the slick stone walls, until the light was joined by that of torches that lined the sides of the tunnel.

The boats started to dock themselves at the end of the tunnel, in front of a stone platform that lead to a large door. There was a scary moment where theirs rocked precariously, but it straightened itself out and docked itself next to one of the other small vessels before anybody could be lost to the water beneath them.

Conan, being at the front of the boat, stood first. He held out his hand for Connor, who took it gratefully as he stepped unsteadily onto the slippery stone floors, which reflected the fiery light of the torches in small puddles. Gavin followed, grumbling at the cold as he did so. The other wizard slipped on the wet ground as he got off the boat and fumbled, grabbing Connor’s shoulder to right himself once again.

“Sorry.” Connor mumbled on instinct. It hadn’t been his fault, but apologising was so much easier than getting somebody else to say sorry.

Gavin just rolled his eyes, but he gave Connor a look of distaste. Connor tried to ignore the feeling of Gavin’s gaze boring into his back as he walked with Conan. They followed the rest of the first years towards a large door, glancing around here and there to properly take in their surroundings.

Connor clutched Hermes to his chest with his free hand, robes billowing around him as the wind picked up and drifted into the tunnel. The cold was seeping into him, and he hoped desperately that the castle would have warming charms in the halls.

“This way!” The giant man instructed, still smiling warmly at all of the wizards that passed. “Professor McGonagall will ‘elp you get sorted!”

Connor found himself looking around in awe as they got to the true entrance of the castle, all of the other first years pooling around the door in a group of whispering children. The door alone towered over them, engraved with intricate little details and golden lines. Connor had to crane his neck to even make out where the door ended and the stone walls of the castle began. He heard Gavin mutter something reluctantly impressed from behind him, which made something bright spark in the back of his mind for a moment. He had to admit, it _was_ an impressive piece of architecture, even if the headmaster that inhabited it was entirely incompetent.

Somebody knocked into him, making him push himself into Conan, who whipped his head around, snakelike, to glare at the person who had caused the sudden movements.

“Sorry!” The wizard in question was a small boy with tawny hair and freckles, who held a short wand in his hand. His wide blue eyes were the stark opposite of Conan’s; full of warmth and emotion. He had a small, apologetic smile on his face. “I didn’t see you there.”

Connor opened his mouth to apologise himself, but Conan beat him to it, yanking Connor away forcefully. A spike of pain shot through Connor’s arm, where Conan gripped him just below the elbow.

“Then you should get your eyes checked, half-breed.” Conan snapped coldly. His shoulders drew up in a display of dominance that Connor was all too familiar with. “Nothing as ghastly looking as you should ever lay hands on a pureblood.”

The other wizard didn’t even flinch away. His smile didn’t even falter. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to get my eyes checked. Thanks for your concern, stranger.” There was definitely an unfriendliness to his voice, however.

Conan stepped forwards. “It’s in your best interest to stop talking right now.” His voice was quiet, dangerously so. His grip on Connor’s arm only tightened.

The other wizard nodded. “Okay. That’s fair.” He looked Connor over, something unreadable flashing in his expression. “My name’s Cole Anderson, by the way.”

He melted away into the crowd. Connor watched him leave, a mixture of confusion and curiosity swimming in his mind. He turned back to Conan, whose icy gaze fixed on his own, a hint of disappointment in those grey eyes of his. Oh no. Connor had upset him.

“Connor,” Conan said, voice silky but eyes so cold. “Remember what Amanda told you. Don’t apologise to creatures like that. It was his own fault.”

_Failure._

Connor inclined his head, shame burning under his skin, heat rising to his cheeks. He’d done everything wrong, hadn’t he? He was already ruining this for his brother. “I remember. I won’t mess up again, I p-promise.”

He should have been better. He should have remembered.

Conan’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “Oh, no, brother. I’m not scolding you. You couldn’t have remembered in the moment. I know how you struggle.” He pulled Connor close again, keeping an arm firmly over his shoulders protectively. “Don’t let the half-breed upset you. I’m here to protect you, aren’t I?”

Before Connor could answer, the giant man knocked heavily on the door, sending sharp cracks of thunderous noise through the muffled whispers and murmurs of the young wizards. Connor shrank away.

With a loud creaking noise, the door sluggishly swung open in a reveal that seemed too dramatic to be real. A few small gasps echoed throughout the group of first years, and Connor wasn’t able to stop the miniscule catching of his own breath at the splendour of the sight.

The doors parted in the centre and swung inwards to reveal a grand hall that looked as though it radiated golden light. The walls were still cold stone, but the absence of rain and wind lessened the formidable look that the outside of the castle held. In the middle of the hall sat a large tabby cat, its green gaze flicking over the group almost disapprovingly.

The giant took up the lead again, stepping inside to stand next to the cat, which looked up at him and twitched its whiskers.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” The giant cried, spreading his arms dramatically. The effect was ruined by the goofy grin still plastered across his face underneath the huge beard. “This here is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and she’ll be taking you through the sorting ceremony.”

Gavin nudged Conan’s side, the action alerting Connor to movement at Conan’s left. “That’s a cat. Do you think the beast knows it’s a cat he’s talking about?”

Connor was shocked when he heard Conan scoff in contempt, a display of disrespect that he had never expressed before.

“I doubt he can tell the difference between a cat and his beard.”

Gavin snickered, a sound so ugly in itself that it took all of his willpower for Connor not to gag. He sighed softly and returned his gaze to the giant and the—admittedly perplexing—cat.

Just as the other first years began to whisper to each other in confusion, something shifted in the atmosphere of the hall and the cat started to _change._

Its body lengthened and lost its fur, grey whiskers growing into long silvery hair that was tied up in a neat bun. Markings and pelt melted into old, weathered and wrinkly skin. Paws lengthened, turning into hands and feet, and shimmering robes billowed out over the newly-appeared woman’s body, a deep purple colour with green accents. Ears shrank away and disappeared under grey hair, green eyes turned human and rested behind elegant glasses. The tail melted away underneath the robes, until the person standing before them was entirely human. It all happened in a matter of seconds, but it was still an unsettling transition from animal to person.

The woman was ancient looking, but she held an air of composure and calm displeasure that Connor immediately knew she held a position of leadership in the school. Connor looked over at Gavin and smiled to himself at the other wizard’s look of sheer confusion. Reed’s jaw was slightly agape, as if he had just been cut off mid-sentence and had his point proven wrong in ten different ways—which, Connor supposed, he had been.

At the sight of the cat’s transformation, Hermes squirmed in Connor’s arms, moving to claw himself onto Connor’s shoulder and sit there, watching for any new feline-centric surprises.

“I am Professor McGonagall, assistant Headmaster and the leader of the Gryffindor house.” The woman said. Her voice carried no weakness, nor vulnerability. This was a woman who knew she was not to be trifled with. “This is Hagrid, who works as gamekeeper here at Hogwarts.”

At the announcement of his name, Hagrid’s smile somehow grew even wider.

“In a few moments, I will be taking you to the annual Sorting Ceremony, where you will each be assigned your traditional Hogwarts house and briefed on what the school year will contain.” Professor McGonagall’s expression softened by a degree as she gazed out over the first years. “You will then be seated at your house’s table to enjoy the start of year feast, and then your prefects will give you a brief tour of the castle before you settle down for the night.”

“The Sorting Ceremony is not as daunting as it sounds. You will be called forth in alphabetical order to be seated on the sorting stool. Our school’s Sorting Hat will determine which house suits you the best, and it will announce it aloud to the rest of the school, who will be watching from the tables. Don’t worry about not getting placed in the same house as siblings or friends, because you will meet more people in your own house, and you will be able to meet with any other friends during recesses or free periods.”

“Each house has specific traits or abilities that the Sorting Hat looks for in a wizard. Gryffindor, my house, favours the brave and heroic. Ravenclaw favours those who are wise and filled with wit. Hufflepuff, the loyal and the curious. Slytherin, the ambitious and cunning.”

There were a few murmurs at the mention of Slytherin, and Conan exchanged a glance with Connor. Slytherin was definitely well-known, although you either loved it or hated it. Known for the purebloods who claimed it their own, who also were disliked greatly by filthy blood-traitors and mudbloods alike. A noble house, one untouched by the filth and scourge that was the muggle world.

“More specifics about each house will be left up to Headmaster Professor Dumbledore to explain at the assembly. For now,” McGonagall clasped her hands behind her back, “follow me to the Great Hall, if you would. The Sorting Ceremony will be commencing in a few moments.”

She turned around to lead the group towards the Great Hall. Hermes tightened his grip on Connor’s shoulder, claws digging into Connor’s skin under his robes. Conan and Gavin were speaking to each other again, but Connor couldn’t be bothered to try and listen in. He just shuffled forwards with the rest of them, trying to squash down the lingering fear in his mind.

Professor McGonagall led them through yet another warmly lit corridor, with Hagrid the gamekeeper tailing the group, making sure nobody strayed behind. Every now and then, Gavin would say something to Conan, and he would laugh, and then Conan would turn to Connor, about to say something, but close his mouth before the words left.

It left Connor feeling…neglected?

He knew it wasn’t his place, but he wasn’t used to Conan talking to anybody else, and suddenly the arm around Connor’s shoulders wasn’t enough, the familiar warmth of Conan’s arm was fading away. He wanted Gavin to at least talk to him, too, to include him in their conversation, but Reed didn’t like him as much as he evidently liked Conan. He didn’t want Conan to like him any less, now that Gavin was here. But he also knew that Conan wasn’t obliged to take care of him, that Connor wasn’t the only person Conan could talk to. He was being ungrateful, ungrateful for Conan’s protection, for everything he’d done.

He didn’t know why.

However, there wasn’t any time to dwell on his worrying feelings of ungratefulness, as Professor McGonagall stopped right in front of another large door and turned to look at the group once again until they all fell silent.

“In a few moments, these doors will open and the Sorting Ceremony will commence.” McGonagall said. “If you need to know which tables belong to which house, look at the colours of the other students’ ties and robes. Gryffindor is red, Ravenclaw is blue, Hufflepuff is yellow, and Slytherin is green.”

_Green._

“Now, I must remind you that the rest of the school will be watching you during the ceremony. Those of you with familiars or pets must leave them under my care until the feast is finished.” Her gaze flicked over Connor and the cat that still clung to his robes. “I assure you that there’s no need to be afraid of the ceremony, or being sorted. If you have any last-minute questions, please address me now before it’s too late.”

A girl in the back of the crowd raised her hand. “What if we don’t like the house we’re sorted into?”

McGonagall inclined her head slightly, eyes glittering behind her glasses. “The Sorting Hat makes no mistakes, dear. If you feel uncomfortable with your sorting, it will be short-lived. Take it up with your head of house if you must, but there’s no reason to feel as though you’ve been sorted into the wrong house.”

Before anybody else could ask a question, the sounds of muffled conversation stopped seeping out from behind the large door, signalling that it was time for the Sorting Ceremony to begin.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. “The ceremony will begin in a few moments. Please follow me to the front of the Great Hall and line up for your Sorting.”

Connor swallowed down the slight fearful lump that had gathered in his throat, fighting the urge to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He risked a glance at Conan and noticed that his twin was looking at him with affection in his eyes once again. Connor relaxed at that, knowing that Conan wasn’t abandoning him for Reed just yet.

Conan took his hand once again and squeezed it once, twice. “Ready, Con? Slytherin awaits us. We’re almost there.”

Almost there. Almost to safety. Connor nodded, no longer afraid.

“Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry about the lesser quality of this chapter; I'm aware that it's not my best piece. Motivation's dwindling at the moment, but it's best to push through the less interesting parts of the story so I can get to the good stuff. 
> 
> Comments are a writer's lifeblood, and any kudos are majorly appreciated <3


	6. The Sorting Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the Sorting commence!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, throwing this chapter at you from the depths of hell: TAKE MY GARBAGE SELF-INDULGENCE AND EAT IT
> 
> [Happy New Years, everyone!]

“Where’d Cole go?” Was the first question Markus asked as he, Simon, Daniel and Josh waited for the Sorting Ceremony to begin.

They were currently standing in front of a large door, surrounded and suffocated by all the other first years who were all waiting impatiently for the ceremony to commence. Apparently, everybody else was just as excited as Markus and his newfound friends were, judging by the murmurs and little bounces of impatience that encircled them. The whole journey had gotten increasingly magical, and the mere sight of Hogwarts had been enough for Markus to lose the ability to form cohesive sentences for at least five whole minutes. The image of a magic castle surrounded by glittering black water and mist had burned itself into his mind, and he’d realised that it was the most beautiful sight in the world, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

In all the excitement, however, they’d somehow managed to lose Cole in the crowd.

Markus wasn’t too worried, but he also definitely wanted to know where his other friend had ended up. He knew it might be the last time he even saw Cole outside of classes, depending on where the younger Anderson brother ended up being sorted into.

Simon, it seemed, was equally as curious as to Cole’s whereabouts.

“I’m pretty sure he was _just_ next to me.” Simon said, looking around for the other wizard’s goofy grin in amongst the crowd. “Where could he have gone?”

“Gee, Si, I don’t know, where _could_ a guy as small as Cole have gotten to in a crowd of rowdy wizards?” Daniel rolled his eyes, slinging an arm across his brother’s shoulders. “It’s fine, little bro. We’ll see him again at the sorting.”

Josh nodded, obviously the most sensible of the three. Simon glanced around nervously once more before giving in to Daniel and Josh’s logic and sighing softly.

“I was just _wondering.”_ Simon muttered, though his voice contained no bitterness. His wide blue eyes kept flicking around here and there, taking in every detail in the stone castle walls. He was obviously a naturally curious soul.

Markus couldn’t blame him, of course. When they’d stepped off the train, a gigantic, smiling man had immediately greeted them, and then that giant had led them to a fleet of magical boats which ended up carrying them inside a magic castle. It was all very, _overwhelmingly_ strange, but in the best possible way.

The giant man knocked on the large door that the first years were all gathered in front of. The sound reverberated throughout the slightly damp tunnels, far louder than it would have been if a regular person knocked. Markus watched the door swing open to reveal a warmly-lit corridor that was twice the size of the large hallways that made up Carl’s house. Torches lined its stone walls, and soft-looking carpet covered the cold floor. Markus stared into the hall, awestruck by its size and majesty. And it was just a _hallway._ Markus couldn’t wait to see the rest of the castle up close like this.

“Whoa.” Daniel whispered from beside him, blue-green eyes wide and filled with admiration. “It’s all golden and shiny!”

The torches that lines the walls of the hallway did, in fact, cast the stone in a warm golden light, giving the whole place a heavenly sort of look. Markus had just begun to think that this day couldn’t get any more astonishing, but evidently he’d been one-hundred percent wrong. The inside of the castle so far had just been the damp tunnel and the dark, cold walls, but now he was faced with a hallway that looked more inviting than a freshly-made bed and ten fuzzy blankets after coming in from a blizzard.

Markus exchanged a glance with each of his new friends—bar Cole, of course. Two greenish-blue pairs and one dark, chocolate brown pair of irises filled with the same childish excitement that a young girl or boy’s eyes would be filled with on Christmas morning when facing a pile of unopened presents.

This, this day, was ten times better than any Christmas or birthday party Markus had ever been to. This was _magic._

Markus was so awestruck that it took him a few moments to realise that a little ways ahead in the hall sat a small tabby cat. The giant man, however, didn’t seem surprised at all. He led the first years towards the feline with large strides that equalled around five of Markus’ own paces.

The giant man spun around, his grin partly hidden by the huge beard that took up most of the lower half of his face. He raised his arms dramatically, eyes twinkling.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” He cried. A well-timed crack of thunder followed, eliciting a few surprised murmurs and whispers from the other young wizards. The cat gave him an irritated look. “This here is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and she’ll be taking you through the sorting ceremony.”

Markus blinked, searching for the person that the giant was talking about. He couldn’t see anybody else that could pass as a magical professor, and the only other living thing that wasn’t an overexcited first year was the disapproving-looking tabby cat. Professor McGonagall wasn’t there.

_Unless…_

Just as Markus wondered whether something so impossibly insane could be true, the cat started to change right in front of his eyes. Gradually, the feline’s body lengthened to that of a petite human woman, fur melting away to reveal pale, wrinkled skin. Markus’ eyes widened as the cat morphed into a human, tail and ears disappearing while the brilliant green eyes faded to a more natural colour. Silvery whiskers moved and multiplied until they turned into a head of hair, pulled into a neat bun.

The newly-formed woman stood with her hands clasped in front of her, taking in the sight of the first years that were all gaping at her.

“Whoa...” Markus heard Josh whisper from next to Daniel. He was definitely inclined to agree.

The woman who now stood in front of them introduced herself as indeed being Professor McGonagall, and that she was the head of Gryffindor house. She went through the details of what the sorting ceremony entailed, explaining what the Sorting Hat was and what it did. Admittedly, Markus wasn’t really listening; his mind was still struggling to comprehend the fact that this woman had just been a cat, and then she’d turned human. After living in a comfortably normal world for eleven years, his brain was trying its hardest not to explode at the crazy amounts of new, reality-breaking information he was being presented with today.

Professor McGonagall led the group of first years to another door and told them to wait until the ceremony was ready to begin. Markus could hear the sounds of muffled conversation from the room behind the door, the voices of which belonging to the rest of the students who were already seated at their house tables.

“I’m so ready for this.” Daniel muttered, somehow managing to _discreetly_ pump his fists in the air. “By the end of the year I’m gonna rule this school, mark my words.”

Simon snickered quietly. “Yeah, or you’ll be known for getting your head stuffed in toilets.”

“Or hexed non-stop because of your tragic hair.” Josh put in helpfully.

“Or you’ll have broken a broomstick so many times that even your wand is afraid of you sitting on it.” Markus grinned. Daniel glared at all three of them.

“You guys are mean.” Daniel said with an exaggerated pout. “ _When_ I’m most popular person in Hogwarts, I’ll make sure that my hordes of followers tail you at all times and jinx you whenever they feel like it.”

Josh just rolled his eyes, while Markus and Simon shared disbelieving looks. Daniel sighed, crossing his arms and looking away with false anger.

After a few more tense moments, while Markus’ heart threatened to give out with all of the fiercely excited beating it was doing, the sounds from behind the door quietened.

Simon gave a little excited jump as everything went quiet, his bright eyes sparkling. Professor McGonagall turned her head slightly to listen, and then she was pushing the door open with Hagrid. Slowly, in a dramatic, movie-like reveal, the Great Hall was unveiled in front of them.

Markus felt his eyes widen, jaw going slack at the sight in front of him. Running down the length of the hall were four different tables, each one probably forty or fifty metres in length. Each of the tables was filled with thousands of older students, all wearing their house’s robes and all staring curiously at the group of first years.

The roof—it wasn’t even a roof. It looked like a shimmering night sky, dotted with bright stars, swirls of blue and purple nebulas slowly moving through the air. Floating candles bobbed here and there, bright orange flames crackling. Markus stared up at it in awe, wondering what kind of magical spell it had taken to do such an epic thing.

“Without looking at the colours, tell me you can’t tell which one is Slytherin.” Josh whispered to Markus. He was glaring pointedly at one of the tables, gentle brown eyes surprisingly sharp.

Markus followed his gaze and flinched away from all of the glaring Slytherins. They all looked angry and mean, even the small ones. Cold grey and blue eyes followed as the first years shuffled nervously in their group. Markus found himself desperately praying to whatever god was listening that he didn’t get stuck in the snake house.

At the far end of the hall, an ancient looking, cheerful man stood in front of a lectern. He had long white hair and a matching beard, and a permanent-looking smile on his face. Wrinkle lines covered his forehead, his cheeks, looking like cracks on age-old porcelain. Milky blue eyes twinkled behind golden half-moon spectacles.

Behind him sat what looked like the rest of the Hogwarts staff, all looking mildly bored.

Markus swallowed a lump in his throat as Professor McGonagall clapped once, twice, and then led the group through the walkway in the middle of the hall, towards the staff table. Markus noticed that there was a singular, normal-looking wooden stool on the elevated platform where the staff were sitting. He wondered vaguely what it was for.

“And here are the new first years!” The old man at the front of the hall cried, his arms outstretched. “Just in time for our annual Sorting Ceremony.”

Markus got a few glimpses of curious faces in the crowds of older wizards as they walked past. He saw Hank sitting at the Ravenclaw table, looking like he’d rather be doing anything else but sitting where he was at the moment.

Markus nudged Simon’s side as the group of first years settled in front of the staff table.

“Who’s the old dude?”

Simon stared at him incredulously before shaking his head. “Are you—oh, right, muggle-born, I guess you wouldn’t know, huh? _That’s_ Dumbledore.”

Oh, right, the headmaster. The one Cole got on his chocolate-frog card. Apparently he was one of the most renowned wizards of the world. He definitely looked the part of an old, wise wizard who taught magic.

“Welcome, new witches and wizards!” Dumbledore said, cheerful voice echoing throughout the hall. “As some of you may know, my name is Albus Dumbledore, and I’m the headmaster of Hogwarts. In a few seconds, Professor McGonagall will call you forward one by one to be sorted into your respective house.”

As her name was spoken, Professor McGonagall moved to stand next to the wooden stool. She beckoned one of the other teachers forward, a tall, twitchy-looking man with scruffy hair and sharp cheekbones. He held a battered witch’s hat in his hands, which he carried over and laid down on top of the stool. That must have been the Sorting Hat that everyone was talking about.

“Now, before we begin I would like to introduce you all to your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Rupert Travis!” Dumbledore said with a smile, gesturing to the man who had held the Sorting Hat. “I know that some of you, namely a few Ravenclaw third years, have been concerned about the so-called ‘curse’ that has been put on the position of Defence teacher ever since Professor Calliope’s disappearance, but I assure you that your worries are completely uncalled for. The curse is only a legend made up to scare those of us who let ourselves believe it.”

“Either way,” the headmaster continued, “Professor Travis will be teaching the Defence classes for the foreseeable future. He will take up residence in Professor Calliope’s old office, if you need to talk to him about anything.”

Polite clapping followed the end of his statement, the kind that never made you feel good about yourself because you definitely knew that nobody actually cared. Markus felt a pang of pity for Professor Travis; he looked so nervous and twitchy.

“I would also like to remind any troublemakers that the forbidden forest is off-limits.” Dumbledore said. “Groundskeeper Filch will be keeping an eye out for any students who are breaking their curfew or snooping around in places they oughtn’t be. I also advise all students to keep away from the third-floor corridor, lest they die a painful death.”

Markus blinked. A few nervous chuckles broke the silence, mainly form the new first years.

Dumbledore smiled again, eyes twinkling. “Now that that information is out of the way,” he clapped, and then stretched his arms out, palms to the roof. “Let the Sorting begin!”

There were a few more claps that quickly died out as Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and unravelled a long scroll of parchment.

“I will call your names in alphabetical order.” McGonagall said. “You will sit on the stool and the Sorting Hat will be placed upon your head. It will sort you into your house for the rest of your time at Hogwarts.”

A murmur of affirmation rippled through the first years. The rest of the hall had gone quiet in anticipation of the ceremony.

McGonagall cleared her throat once more, giving the parchment a slight shake before looking down at the words and opening her mouth to bring the first new student to the front.

“Cole Anderson.” She called out. Markus turned his head and saw Cole slinking to the front of the group, eyes wide with nervous anticipation. He looked around once, gaze landing on Markus, and he smiled widely before stepping up to be sorted.

Markus watched Cole settle himself on the wooden stool as the Sorting Hat was lifted by Professor Travis to be placed on his head. The younger Anderson brother didn’t look the slightest bit upset at being called forth first out of the group of new students.

Cole closed his eyes as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. He screwed his face up comically, peeking through one of his closed eyes to shoot Markus and his other friends an exasperated look. Simon gave Cole an encouraging smile, and Daniel just quietly heckled him.

After a few seconds, a face seemed to appear in the Sorting Hat. Folds of fabric melded into a moving mouth that it used to speak in a booming masculine voice, announcing Cole’s house to the rest of the school.

_“Ravenclaw!”_

Cheers and applause from the Ravenclaw table. Markus joined in, eliciting a wide grin from Cole as he slipped off of the stool and ran over to his new house’s table.

Professor McGonagall watched Cole, a fond look in her eyes, before turning back to the first years and calling the next name from her list.

“North Armors.”

Markus vaguely remembered the girl from the Hogwarts express, the one with the mean expression who had ordered them into their robes. She flounced up to the stool and sat ungracefully, glaring at the tables of older wizards as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head. Her gaze landed on Markus and she scowled, and then the Sorting Hat announced her house.

_“Gryffindor!”_

It went on like that for a while. Names of little importance passed, young wizards were sorted. Markus watched the whole time, a tight nervousness tugging at his gut. He shifted on his feet, hands flexing at his sides.

When Josh was called up, the second the hat landed on his head it screamed _Gryffindor!_ at the top of its non-existent lungs. Markus, Simon, and Daniel cheered so loudly that it almost drowned out the rest of the students’ applause. Josh sat down at the Gryffindor table and shot a gleeful look at his friends.

“Adam Chapman.”

_“Hufflepuff!”_

“Lilly Johnson.”

_“Slytherin!”_

“Amber Joy.”

_“Ravenclaw!”_

“Daniel Hills.”

When Daniel’s name was called, his eyes widened slightly. Simon patted him on the shoulder, and the other boy gave a slight nod before pushing his way to the front of the crowd and jumping up to sit on the stool. He grinned at the crowd as the hat landed on his sandy-blond head, a cocky gleam in his eyes that said _‘I’m awesome and I know it’_.

It took a little longer for the pointed, battered hat to scream the house that it thought was suitable, and Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed after it took a few seconds longer than the previous person. He squirmed in the seat, even though it probably hadn’t been more than nine seconds.

After a few more tense moments of waiting, where Markus started to worry whether it was possible for somebody _not_ to get sorted, the Sorting Hat’s mouth-fold opened and it boomed out:

_“Gryffindor!”_

Daniel beamed, throwing the hat off enthusiastically and pumping his fists in the air. The other wizards chuckled, and Markus saw Professor McGonagall smiling behind her hand.

He turned to look at Simon, but then noticed that his new friend was staring up at the Sorting Hat, eyes wide with fear.

“Simon? You okay?”

Simon glanced at him, then shook his head. “I just…I keep thinking—what if I’m not good enough?”

Markus tilted his head and put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine.” He promised. “Hey, if the Sorting Hat thinks _Daniel’ll_ make it through this school, then it sure as hell will let you through.”

Simon gave a weak laugh, then stiffened as McGonagall called his name. Markus gave him a gentle push forward.

“Trust me, you’ll be fine.” He repeated. “Now go on, I’ll be cheering for you.”

Simon gave him a grateful smile before nervously making his way up to the front. McGonagall gave him a small, encouraging smile and he gingerly sat himself on top of the wooden stool. He closed his eyes the second that the hat hit his hair, lowering his head so his face wasn’t visible to the thousands of wizards watching him. Markus held his breath, silently willing the hat to put Simon in Gryffindor with Josh and Daniel, so that the smaller wizard wouldn’t be alone in a house filled with strangers.

A terrifying image of Simon being sorted into Slytherin crept into his mind. The idea of the wide-eyed wizard getting thrown into the snake-pit made a coil of protectiveness form in Markus’ stomach. He knew it was unlikely for Simon to get sorted into the ‘evil’ house; even though he’d only known the other wizard for a few hours at most, he already knew that Simon was a kindhearted, generous person, not the kind to wind up in Slytherin.

With that in mind, Markus forced himself to relax. He saw the tension in Simon’s shoulders as he sat, tensely waiting for the hat to determine his fate, and he wanted to reach out an reassure his friend that it was okay, that he was going to be the greatest wizard of their generation.

_“Gryffindor!”_

Markus cheered, clapping his hands so hard that it hurt. Simon’s eyes widened, and a grin snuck its way onto his face as he jumped down and ran to where Josh and Daniel sat at the front of the Gryffindor table. They, too, were clapping harder than anyone else in the hall. Markus smiled at the sight, and Simon looked back at him to give him a thumbs-up, beaming.

With a start, Markus realised that his time to be sorted was coming up. He swallowed down a lump of fear that was building in his throat, willing his hands to stop trembling. He watched a few more kids get sorted, two more Slytherins and a Hufflepuff, but the whole time he was shifting on his feet and fidgeting nervously.

The girl who was called before him went up and got sorted into Ravenclaw. As soon as she was seated at her new table, Markus glanced back at her to see Cole watching him from the Ravenclaw table encouragingly. He gave a small smile when he met Markus’ gaze, and Markus gave a weak one back.

“Markus Manfred.”

He stiffened at his name being called. With a small exhale of nervous breath, Markus slowly made his way up to the front of the hall. He slipped through the shrinking group of first years, his shoulder brushing a girl with frizzy hair and wide, owlish eyes. He muttered a quick apology before stepping up to the front, his shaking hands finding the stool before the rest of him did.

Markus turned to face the front and sat down. He was suddenly faced with thousands of intense stares, ranging from open and curious from the Hufflepuffs to downright hostile from the Slytherins. He was quick to fix his gaze on Simon, Josh, and Daniel, who all gave him equally reassuring smiles. Daniel stuck out his tongue.

He couldn’t help but shrink away as Professor Travis stepped forward on shaky legs, the Sorting Hat glaring at him from the Defence teacher’s twitchy hands. Up close, the pointed witch’s hat looked even more menacing and judgmental, like it could stare into Markus’ soul and reveal all of his deepest secrets.

The hat was placed on the top of his head, and he tried not to think about all of the sweaty, lice-infested heads it had already touched in the past twenty minutes. There was a strange sensation that shot through his spine, a slight buzzing tingle that dissipated after a few seconds.

Markus didn’t know what to expect, but he definitely didn’t think that he’d hear the hat’s sneering voice inside his head as it spoke to him.

_“Who do we have here, hmm?”_

He furrowed his brow, the voice seeming to echo around in all the empty spaces of his skull.

_“I see lots of courage, fit for a Gryffindor. Bravery, but also recklessness. You have wisdom and logic, but it’s overthrown by compassion. A deep ambition, for a Slytherin—”_

At the mention of Slytherin, Markus shook his head slightly.

“Not Slytherin.” He whispered under his breath.

The hat chuckled, the sound reverberating in his head. _“Why not? Slytherin is perfect for somebody as powerful and determined as you. While you would certainly fit in Gryffindor, in Slytherin you would_ flourish _”_

“Not Slytherin.” Markus repeated firmly. His mind was filled with images of him, standing with a group of green-clad wizards all holding their wands out, the faces of Josh and Daniel and Simon looking terrified in the background. No. Definitely not Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat laughed again. _“Very well, then, if you’re so hell-bent on throwing away your best future.”_ A pause, the silence filling the hall almost suffocating. _“I stand by my belief that you would do much better in Slytherin. A wizard with as many dreams and ambitions as you, and the determination to fulfil them, isn’t that what Slytherin is for?”_

Was it? Everybody else had made Slytherin sound so evil and mean, not just ambitious and determined. Still, it didn’t change the fact that Markus didn’t want to be sorted into the snake house. He wanted to be with his new friends, either in Gryffindor with the Hill twins and Josh, or in Ravenclaw with Cole and Hank.

Markus shook his head again. “No.”

 _“Fine.”_ The hat sounded irritated. _“If not Slytherin, then you will sleep in the lion’s den.”_

Out loud, it shouted “Gryffindor!”

Markus felt a grin break out over his features as the house was announced, his overexcited heartbeat drowning out the rest of the hat’s unhappy grumbles. The dreadful piece of clothing was removed from his head and the room erupted in cheers, the strongest of which came from the Gryffindor table, where Daniel had jumped to his feet and was practically screaming his approval. Markus jumped down from the front and sprinted over to his friends. Simon pulled him into an excited hug, beaming.

“I knew it!” Daniel cried. “I knew you were one of us!”

Markus couldn’t stop smiling. He chanced a glance at the Ravenclaw table and saw Cole grinning at him, Hank rolling his eyes at his side.

Once the hall had settled down, the sorting continued. Markus didn’t pay attention to any of the other students who got their house announced, but he joined in on the clapping whenever another young wizard was sorted into Gryffindor.

At least, he wasn’t paying attention until one of the last students was called up.

“Conan Stern.”

At this name, Josh screwed up his nose and muttered something inaudible, glaring daggers at the wizard who moved to be sorted. From what Markus could see, he was pale and pretty normal-looking, but there was a sharpness to his grey gaze that put Markus on edge.

“What’s wrong with him?” Markus asked Josh in a whisper. “He looks fine to me.”

Josh shook his head. “No way. The Sterns are a really fancy pureblood family, one of the strictest, most muggleborn hating wizard families in the world. They’ve been sorted into Slytherin for centuries; I’m pretty sure their blood is just snake oil at this point.”

Daniel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, our parents were talking about them. Said they were a disgrace to the wizarding world. You should never trust a Stern, especially if you’re muggleborn. They’ll stab you in the back and take everything you ever loved.”

“That’s kind of intense.” Markus said as he watched the Sorting. He heard Daniel scoff, but none of the four friends said anything else.

Unsurprisingly, according to Josh and Daniel, when the Sorting Hat announced _Slytherin,_ a wicked looking smile appeared on the Stern kid’s face. The cheers from the Slytherin table rivalled the mutters from Gryffindor at this new development. Wow, that family really was famous.

Markus returned his attention to his friends. They fell into a quiet conversation about purebloods and muggleborns, which they soon abandoned to talk about Quidditch rules.

“Oh my god, there’s another one.” Simon whispered, staring at the front of the hall. Markus followed his gaze to where another young wizard was getting sorted, and—

And he was a clone of the other Stern kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm, I wonder what's about to happen. It's not like I've been teasing it the whole time, right?
> 
> Also, Rupert taking the place of Quirell, huh? I wonder what that could mean, plot-wise >:)))


	7. An Ungodly Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this certainly isn't what Connor expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter: There's a not-so-brief description of disassociation, so if that could possibly trigger or upset you in any way make sure to continue with caution.

The Great Hall was loud and bright, a beacon of…hope? Maybe. Golden and shining, candles lighting the invisible ceiling above. It did instil a feeling of hope. Hope for his future, for what came next. At this point, the hope and the anxiety were evenly matched. Manageable. Perfectly balanced, like all things should be.

Connor stood at the back of the group, watching everything unfold, curiosity burning in his mind. Watching the other people get sorted had been fine. It had even helped ease the tension forming inside of him, for a few moments. He observed countless others go up, all of them looking so confident and sure of themselves, and he found himself wishing that he could feel like that, that he was as confident as all the other first years seemed to be, even when facing an entire hall of older wizards.

He watched a blond haired kid and his twin go up after one another. They were both sorted into Gryffindor, which made Connor relax. Those twins were in the same house. At least he’d be with Conan, then, if that were the case. They wouldn’t dare separate twins like he and his brother. They wouldn’t make him go on alone.

The logical part of his brain didn’t even think to object, it was so deep in its delusions and denial.

Then Conan had been called up. He left his rightful place at Connor’s side to be sorted into his house, leaving the space empty and aching. Connor watched him go, eyes wide, silently egging him on. Conan didn’t need encouragement, but Connor liked to think that he was somehow able to help his brother in any way, even though, in reality, he knew that Conan didn’t need him.

As soon as the hat landed on Conan’s head, Connor knew exactly what it was going to say. The Sterns had been a Slytherin family for generations; they’d trained as Slytherins their whole lives. It was impossible to be sorted anywhere else. Every pureblood family knew of the Sterns, which meant that as Conan was called up to the sorting, Connor saw the curiosity in the older Slytherin students’ eyes. He knew they couldn’t wait to get their hands on a Stern.

They were about to get two.

It barely took two seconds for the Sorting Hat to scream out the glorious words into the quiet hall. When it did, Slytherin’s table erupted in applause, and a wide grin cracked over Conan’s icy expression. He looked down at Connor and the excitement in his eyes made something in Connor’s chest ache. Conan then left to sit next to Gavin at the Slytherin table, and Connor couldn’t explain how that made him feel.

He fidgeted with the hem of his robes, a mixture of anticipation and paralysing fear forming in his chest. He knew he was up next. Once the deafening cheers from the Slytherin table subsided and Professor McGonagall gave the scroll of parchment another once-over, he knew he was doomed to be sitting in that dreadful stool next, the eyes of every other student in the school watching him.

He shuddered just thinking about it.

“Connor Stern.”

The words sent a shiver down his spine, his blood turning to ice as soon as his name left the Professor’s mouth. He didn’t move at first, and then he was pushing himself forwards, mentally kicking himself in the back.

Connor made his way slowly to the front of the group, which only consisted of fifteen or so other wizards now. The silence of the hall was stifling, the thundering of his heartbeat the only sound he could hear. He twisted his fingers in the fabric of his robes, forcing his hands to stop shaking so much. Air rattled in his chest as he walked to the front of the hall, refusing to look at the crowd of older students watching his every move.

Why was this so hard? He only had to sit down and wait for the Sorting Hat to announce Slytherin, and then he’d be okay. He’d be in the next part of his life, the most important part. It shouldn’t take this much effort just to walk up to a chair and sit down, but it did. It took so much effort that he had to focus all of his energy into putting one foot forward, and then the other. His legs were weak and shaking, threatening to buckle underneath him with the weight of his fear.

It felt like an eternity before he finally reached the wooden stool where his fate would be decided. He was small enough that his feet didn’t reach the floor once he was seated atop it, but he stared down at them nonetheless. Anything to distract himself from the eyes boring into him from all sides. He could feel the waves of judgment and contempt radiating off everyone else, and it chilled him to the core while simultaneously making his face feel too hot.

The Defence teacher, Professor Travis, stepped forward, the Sorting Hat hanging from his trembling fingers. Connor knew of Rupert Travis from an eavesdropping session at home; apparently, the new professor was well known in their circle, but that was all he knew. Why a well-known servant of the Dark Lord was a teacher at Hogwarts, he had no idea.

Connor’s head was almost too small for the Sorting Hat. It fell over his eyes and he had to push it back up with shaking hands as it was placed on his head. The sudden weight of it surprised him, but then he remembered how heavy the fabric of most robes was and he sank back a little.

For a few tense moments, everything was quiet.

When the Sorting Hat didn’t immediately proclaim that he was a Slytherin, his already too-fast heartbeat sped up yet again. It wasn’t supposed to take so long. It was supposed to just _know._ There wasn’t supposed to be a confusing silence, drawn out and tense.

A voice, booming and sharp, echoed in his head, in the empty spaces of his skull. It made him wince.

 _“Another one, eh?”_ The hat’s gravelly voice bellowed in his head, offputtingly. _“Never thought I’d be seeing another Stern here, let alone twins.”_

Connor flinched away from the voice and didn’t reply, not having any idea of what to say. Nobody had ever told him that the Sorting Hat would talk to him. Amanda had just said that it would look into your personality and sort you, nothing more. She had never thought to tell him that the act included holding a conversation with it.

He couldn’t hold a conversation with a real person, another wizard, in the first place. How was he supposed to talk to a _hat?_ And in the middle of a Great Hall, where everybody was staring at him, no less?

_“Nothing to say? You’re not much like your brother at all.”_

Of course, _Conan_ would have spoken to it like it was nothing. _Conan_ wouldn’t have been so scared. Connor was just stupid and small; he was nothing without his brother to protect him. Even now, all he had to do was sit and talk to a magic hat, and he couldn’t even do that right. If it weren’t for Conan, Connor figured he’d be dead by now.

Dead, or condemned to a life of suffering.

_“Yes, definitely different, aren’t you? What are you so afraid of?”_

_You,_ Connor wanted to say. _You, and everything else._

But he stayed silent, willing the hat to just hurry up and put him in Slytherin, with his brother. It was where he belonged, after all.

 _“Is that what you want? Slytherin?”_ It chuckled, a sound so dark and menacing that Connor wasn’t sure why it was allowed to speak in the first place. The hat certainly didn’t seem like something that should be greeting somebody.

Connor silently affirmed it, squeezing his eyes shut. At least he couldn’t see the other students watching him anymore, couldn’t feel the pressure of their stares pressing down on his shoulders.

 _“Oh, but is someone as scared as you fit for Slytherin?”_ The hat taunted. _“You have no ambition, small Stern. You have no goals, no determination to achieve those goals. You’re lost.”_

Connor gave the slightest shake of his head. He had goals, he had ambition. He needed to become a Death Eater and serve the Dark Lord. That was ambition enough to be a Slytherin, was it not? That was the most Slytherin-sounding goal you could have. Surely, the hat was just trying to get a reaction out of him.

It said otherwise.

 _“Those are goals given to you. They’re not_ your _goals, are they? Sure, you feel as though you have to achieve them, to work towards them, but somebody else set them for you. Do you even want that, kid? Do you even want to live a life as dangerous as that?”_

“I—I want that.” Connor whispered quietly, wringing his hands together. He tried to ignore the tiny part of himself that pointed out the fact that everyone else could see him talking to himself like a St Mungo’s patient. “I do.”

_“Or maybe you just want your brother. I can see into your mind, remember? I know how much you need him. Did you know he doesn’t need you the same way? Slytherin would break you, little Stern. It would tear you apart. Maybe you’d fare better in Hufflepuff—”_

Connor’s eyes widened. No. No way in Hell. Hufflepuff? He’d rather die than be stuck there. The badger house was full of muggleborns and traitors. Amanda—Amanda would kill him if he was sorted into Hufflepuff. If he didn’t kill someone first.

The hat gave another sneering chuckle.

_“No, you have no compassion, no loyalty. Hufflepuff wouldn’t be a good choice for you. You’re not particularly brave either, are you? Hmmm, such a hard decision to make.”_

_Slytherin._ Connor urged silently, panic starting to build in his chest. _Slytherin. I need to be in Slytherin._

He was dimly aware of the confused mumbles of the other students in the hall. They were wondering what was taking so long. Connor wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for ten years to escape his humiliation. His face flushed, and he kept his eyes stubbornly closed. He didn’t want to see the look on Conan’s face, staring at him from the Slytherin table.

 _Please._ Connor begged silently. _Please just let me—_

_“You’d never survive Slytherin. It would break your spirit. I can see your soul already flickering away inside of you. Gryffindor wouldn’t work well. You don’t have the courage. And are you really intelligent enough for Ravenclaw?”_

If any part of him wasn’t drowning in dilemma, Connor would have found it funny that he was being _insulted_ by an item of clothing, something that he could have torn to shreds with his bare hands if he wanted to. Since he couldn’t function properly at all, all he managed to think was that he was so, so _screwed._

A pause. The Sorting Hat was silent. Connor was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. It felt as though his ribs had constricted around his lungs and heart, forcing his breathing to become shallow and weak. His pulse fluttered in his throat, too fast and uneven to be healthy. Everything was closing in on him, anxiety whirling in his mind.

_“Tell me something, young Stern. Are you really cut out for this?”_

_Yes!_ Connor wanted to scream it. He wanted to yell it at the sky and have everybody know. If he said it loud enough, it would be true.

_“I think you’re lying. But I suppose you can’t stay here all year.”_

Connor barely managed to bite back a whimper, mentally kicking himself for being so afraid. He wanted…he _needed Conan._ He needed his brain to shut down for two seconds so he could hear himself _think_. Any logical parts of his mind had retreated into the dark, gaping caverns of his anxiety.

_“What will it be, hmmm? Slytherin? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff? So many options, so little time. I wonder if you’ll learn what a precious thing time is, one day.”_

Connor didn’t care _how_ precious time was, he wanted this to be over. He wanted to run to Conan and continue life as normal, to feel his brother’s arms around him again. But he couldn’t, not without being seen by the rest of Hogwarts. The thought was sobering, humiliating.

Time seemed to slow down for a second that lasted a lifetime. Connor opened his eyes, only to be met with thousands of stares. Eyes, unblinking and cold, dark and terrifying, surrounded him. The stared him down with their sharp gazes as the Sorting Hat made its decision, waiting, watching. At the Slytherin table, Conan was watching him, expression unreadable. Next to him, Gavin sneered, the coldness in his gaze amplifying the panic-inducing intensity of the other stares that surrounded him, pressed in on him coldly.

If he were in the right mind, if he hadn’t been raised the way he was, then maybe he wouldn’t have feared the next word that came out of the god-forsaken hat’s mouth. Maybe he would have been okay.

As it was, he feared the word greatly. He would never be okay with it.

Even more, he knew that Amanda would never, ever forgive him. And Conan—he would be so disappointed. That in itself made something hollow open up inside of him.

The word itself was as harmless as words got, yet it turned his blood to ice and pierced his lungs. It shot through the silence in a crack of loud, thunderous noise, so unwanted, so irreversible.

So utterly life ending.

_“Ravenclaw!”_

And the damage had been done.

It was funny, though. All of Connor’s anxiety, his fear, the panic that built and built in his chest until there was no escape, it had all been leading up to this moment. Yet, as he heard the word, as he met Conan’s horror-filled gaze across the room, it all broke free in a flurry of… _nothing._

Absolute nothingness.

Instead of the tears that had threatened to escape his traitorous eyes finally coming forth, instead of screaming or staring dumbly in horror, nothing happened. Nothing at all, not even the slightest quiver in his hands or eyes. The world dimmed, zeroing in on the fact that everything was nothing.

He slid off the stool, and his legs didn’t even shake. He walked, dimly hearing the applause from the Ravenclaw table, but vividly seeing his own dull confusion reflected in the eyes of the Slytherins. The world around him was muffled, blurred around the edges as he came down from whatever that hypersensitivity had been. Across the hall, Conan stared at him, and the torrent of unreadable emotion in his eyes barely pierced the veil that had gone down over Connor’s world. He was aware of it, aware that he was going to have to apologise eventually, to explain himself, but now he just felt—

Numb. Numb? _Numb._

He floated, bodiless, over to the Ravenclaw table. He saw himself sit down, but then, it wasn’t really _him_. It didn’t feel like him. It felt like an imposter, like it was his mind occupying a different body. He—it—the imposter, watched the rest of the Sorting, emotionless dead eyes following the movements lazily.

He didn’t listen as the Sorting finished and the headmaster made a speech. Or, if he did, he couldn’t understand a word being spoken. There were sounds, but they were quiet gibberish in his ears, his brain remaining unperceptive and hazy. He didn’t even realise the speech was over until suddenly there was food on the table, the start-of-year feast beginning. He stared down at the plate in front of him dumbly, as if he’d forgotten what it was, ignoring the faces of the other Ravenclaws as they scrambled for food like vultures swarming at a carcass.

The gnawing of hunger tugged at his stomach—he hadn’t eaten all day, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat. He couldn’t find the motivation to move his arms at all. He’d lost control of his limbs. He could barely feel the starvation through the fog.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back into himself, but only slightly. He turned his head sluggishly, finding the boy from earlier looking at him. Tawny hair fell over concerned blue eyes, blue eyes that only reminded Connor of his brother.

“You look lonely.” The boy said, and Connor couldn’t remember his name— _why_ _couldn’t Connor remember his name?_ “Do you wanna come sit with us?”

Connor should have been scared. He should have been petrified that this stranger was talking to him, unprompted. He would have been scared earlier that day, right? Instead of the all-too-familiar fear, however, the dull buzz of cool numbness just pressed in on him, until his mind threatened to escape him again. Why wasn’t he scared?”

He nodded slowly—so slowly—and let the other wizard take him further down the Ravenclaw table. His legs were still working, but his mind had officially gone off-radar for the rest of the foreseeable future. He couldn’t remember this boy’s name, but he’d explicitly been told just a few minutes earlier. He hated not knowing. Almost as much as he hated Ravenclaw right now.

The boy sat down somewhere in the middle of the table. At his signalling, Connor sat next to him warily, not trusting the world when it said that this was fine.

“Your name’s Connor, right?” The other boy asked. Connor blinked at him. “That’s an Irish name.”

Connor merely nodded, not entirely sure what to say to that. He stared down at the table, an uncomfortable prickling on his spine that he knew meant somebody was watching him. He didn’t want to come off as rude, but talking to people like this was too much for him to handle right now.

“Jesus, Cole, you really know how to pick ‘em, huh?” Another voice, gruff and unfriendly, coming from an older wizard sitting across the table. “Couldn’t have just brought Markus with you?”

The boy—no, his name was Cole, Connor realised— _Cole_ glared at the older wizard. “Markus is in Gryffindor, remember? He’s got Simon, Daniel, and Josh to keep him company. I don’t have anyone, and I don’t think Connor here does either.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to drag along any lonely sod that comes by.” The other boy muttered. He looked at Connor, with the same blue eyes as Cole, but these were hostile, calculating. He was chewing on the end of a straw. “Hey, you mute or somethin’?”

That was the second time Connor had been asked that today. He wondered if he should just nod along and agree. Maybe then, nobody would talk to him. He stared at his hands, which he now realised were trembling, so he stuffed them in his pockets and kept silent.

“Don’t be mean, Hank.” Cole said. He turned back to Connor, and there was sympathy in his gaze. It made Connor uncomfortable, to be looked at so intensely, up so close. “Sorry about him, he’s terrible at socialising.”

The older wizard, who was presumably named Hank, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _‘I’m not as bad as your new friend there.’_

Connor wasn’t even offended. He knew it was true. He was dreadful at socialising, which was why he always used to let Conan do the talking. Conan—

Oh god, _Conan._ He was gone, wasn’t he? Connor couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel him anywhere. He was gone, and in his absence only a gaping hole was left. It hurt, it ached, it felt like something had been ripped out of his chest and was never going to be returned.

Cole reached over and helped himself to a serving of food. Connor watched half-heartedly, ignoring his own hunger screaming at him for nourishment. He’d gone days without eating before, hadn’t he? He’d be fine. He knew his limits, and he was nowhere near reaching them.

Connor had to fight the urge to lay his head down on the table and sleep. The stress and the emotional build-up had left him exhausted, an exhaustion that lay beneath his skin, seeped into his bones like a poison. His head hurt.

If he went to sleep, maybe he’d wake up and he’d be back home. Maybe this was all just a terrible, _terrible_ nightmare. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He missed his kitten, too. Hagrid—the gamekeeper—had taken any pets with him, promised that they’d all find their ways to the appropriate dorm by the end of the Sorting Ceremony. Connor wanted the tiny feline back, wanted to be able to hold something warm and comforting, even if it were only for a few moments before he woke up.

Cole was looking at him, something vaguely worried in his expression. “You’re allowed to eat.” He said, as if he thought Connor was having trouble figuring it out himself.

“…I—I know.” Connor whispered feebly. He didn’t meet Cole’s gaze, couldn’t bring himself to. The thought of looking into those bright blue eyes was too much. Across the table, he heard Hank scoff.

“Oh, then you _should_ eat.” Cole told him. He turned back to his food. “It’s important. Especially after such a draining day.”

 _I’m sure your day was_ just _as harrowing as mine was._ Connor bitterly wanted to laugh, at that. He wanted to scream, too, to raise his head to the sky and let everything pour out of him for everybody to hear. He could imagine it, just letting all of these feelings reign free over him, letting himself scream and shout and do all the things he so desperately wanted to do. If only he had the confidence, the courage, to do such a thing. Maybe then the Sorting Hat would take back everything it said.

Cole was looking at him expectantly. Reluctantly, Connor took a piece of bread and nibbled on the edge of it half-heartedly. Seeming satisfied, Cole smiled at him before returning to his own meal.

They ate in semi-awkward silence, but Connor was still too deep in shock to really be able to care about the awkwardness of it all. Minutes passed, and they simultaneously felt like seconds and eternities. Connor wasn’t sure how long it had been before Dumbledore stood up once again to end the feast with a short message, but he knew it had been horribly uncomfortable.

“Now, before we enter the next school year,” Dumbledore said, “I’d like to address a few changes to the class schedules. After a few unfortunate incidents last year, Slytherin and Hufflepuff’s first and second years will no longer be having classes together.”

At this, there were a few whoops from the Slytherin table and a few very relieved sighs from the Hufflepuffs.

“Instead, Slytherin and Gryffindor will be paired for the first and second year classes, and Ravenclaw will be paired with Hufflepuff.” Dumbledore smiled. “Hopefully this will prevent any more snake-related injuries in the Hufflepuff common room.”

“I would also like to say that, thanks to gamekeeper Hagrid’s hard work over the holidays, the lake is now free of flesh-eating leeches, and is safe to fall into.” He clasped his hands together. “Now, this concludes our start-of-year feast. Prefects, if you could please take the first years on a brief tour of the halls before curfew, that would be wonderful.”

The hall erupted into a cacophony of noise. Around him, everyone jumped to their feet in what seemed like synchronicity. Cole stood, and when Connor didn’t follow, the other wizard took his arm and practically dragged him to his feet.

Connor looked around desperately, searching for a familiar grey gaze. He wanted to find Conan, have him tell him he wasn’t angry with him. He wanted his brother to understand that this hadn’t been his fault, that the Sorting Hat wanted him to be miserable.

His gaze sifted through the Slytherin first years urgently as he searched for his brother. When he spotted Conan, talking to Gavin like nothing had just happened, Connor felt the gaping hole in his chest engulf a little more of him. His twin looked up, and when their gazes met, Conan’s expression convulsed, melting into something disappointed and hurt. Connor’s heart shuddered in his chest, and he forced himself to look away.

Connor exhaustedly let Cole tug him over towards the Ravenclaw prefects, who were waiting for the first years to follow them out into the halls.

“First years, come with me!” An older Ravenclaw was yelling, piercing green eyes flicking over the group. “We’re going on a walk.”

Connor followed as the older wizard led them through the doors, staring blankly ahead while his mind finally caught up to him. Next to him, Cole attempted to make conversation, pointing out little details and asking Connor about himself. When Connor managed to answer, the answers were one-worded, quiet, until Cole gave up on his friendly approach to walk in silence.

The prefect took them through the many corridors of the castle, explaining where all the classrooms were and which teachers had offices in the dungeons. Connor listened as well as he could, but his brain was sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion. He couldn’t even find the motivation to be upset anymore, it was too much effort. Dimly, he wondered if this was going to be how it was for the next seven years of his life.

They walked through countless halls, climbed moving staircases that used up the rest of Connor’s spent mental capabilities. It felt like years before they even got near their dorms, and those years felt like decades themselves. All throughout their journey, Connor’s heartbeat kept steadily speeding up, until its panicked rhythm was pounding through his ears and rattling against his rib cage.

To top it all off, it was storming outside. Connor could feel the electricity in the air. He knew that with lightning came the dreaded thunder, and without Conan to comfort him through the loud crashes and bright flashes of fear he wondered if he’d even make it through the first night of being alone. His erratic heartbeat sped up once again at the thought, breath catching in his throat.

When they finally reached the Ravenclaw dorms, Connor picked a room at random, and Cole followed, as well as two other first years that he had no intention to ever speak to. Their luggage immediately appeared beneath their beds, but Connor didn’t even bother to get into pyjamas. He barely looked around.

He threw himself down on his bed, closed the curtains and buried himself in warm blankets, fighting off the waves of fear that were hitting him at random intervals. Hermes the kitten had been delivered earlier by Hagrid, and Connor held the feline tight in his arms as he squeezed his eyes closed, ignoring the muffled chatter of the three other boys outside the safe haven of his four-poster bed.

The tears finally came. The spilled from his eyes like a waterfall, soaking his pillow in seconds. It took every ounce of concentration left in his body not to sob aloud and alert his new roommates to his crying. Outside, thunder cracked through the dark, whirling skies, rattling the windows and his bones. With each loud rumble, Connor had to bite back a whimper, and his grip on Hermes tightened. The kitten seemed to pick up on his distress, curling into him with a small, reassuring purr. It did nothing to ease his fear.

He cried himself to sleep sometime after midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wasn't too bad, right? RIGHT?
> 
> Now that the sorting business is over, the boys will have a few chapters of adjustment before we really get into the plot ;) Thanks for leaving comments and kudos, they make my day every time <3


	8. Whispers and Rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus discovers some darkness hiding in the corners of this new world. North makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREMISE FOR THIS CHAPTER: In this story, the first wizarding war never happened, Death Eaters are just a spooky ghost story, and Voldemort, well...
> 
> ...he may not be who or what you think he is.

“This food is so good, dude.” Daniel spoke around a mouthful of roasted lamb. He ate like a famished lion at the end of winter, desperate and fast. It was a wonder he hadn’t choked yet. “Like, I just died and went to heaven good.”

Markus laughed, shoving a piece of his own dinner in his mouth. “I mean, I can’t say I disagree.” The food _was_ heavenly. Probably something to do with magic, like a deliciousness-charm or something like that. He didn’t care if it was, of course. So what if it was magic? It was the best food he’d had in his whole life, and _that_ was saying something.

The tables were set with silvery cutlery and plates covered with thousands of different foods. There was chicken, lamb, beef, all the best things, covering the length of the entire Gryffindor table. In amongst the more dinner-y meals was a light smattering of dessert food, like pudding and fruit salad and ice cream. It was like somebody looked into Markus’ best dreams and created a whole castle full of his wildest imaginations of what magical food would look like.

The feast, in addition to being wonderful, gave Markus some more insight into his new friends’ personalities. Specifically, Simon and Daniel.

As soon as they were shovelling servings of delicious food onto their plates, Simon screwed up his nose and shook his head at the huge slice of meat that Daniel was trying—and failing—to fit entirely in his mouth.

“Ew.”

“How can you think _this_ is gross when you’re eating literal rabbit food?” Daniel’s face contorted in a grimace around the food in his mouth.

“Because my food isn’t an animal and yours is.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I really don’t get your vegetarianism. Enjoy your leaves while _I_ enjoy this juicy meat, prat.”

“At least my dinner didn’t use to be a baby sheep, git.” Simon pointed out, waving his fork in the air to exaggerate his point. “That’s cruel.”

Markus didn’t bother pointing out that lamb meat wasn’t actually from baby sheep, he was much too invested in his own meal.

“Your dinner used to be a baby plant.” Daniel shrugged. “They’re both alive, right? What’s the difference?”

Simon glared at him. “Don’t try to guilt trip me like this, Danny.” He puffed out his chest, which looked kind of ridiculous, what with his oversized robes and wide blue eyes. He reminded Markus of a baby penguin trying to assert dominance over a sea lion. “I’m gonna make it my mission to convert you to vegetarianism by the end of fifth year, mark my words.”

Daniel scoffed. “Yeah, right. Whatever you say.” He went back to shovelling his food into his mouth at the speed of light, and Markus went back to worrying about blocked airways.

“You’re vegetarian?” Markus asked Simon, genuinely curious. “Isn’t that a…muggle thing?”

The other wizard nodded. “I mean, I guess more muggles do it than wizards, but we’re half-bloods, and mum’s a big advocate for animal rights in the muggle world. I went vegetarian when she told me how terribly animals are treated when they’re going to be killed for meat.” He shuddered. “I could never look at my dad’s cooking the same way after that.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. Those meat farms are horrible.” Markus shook his head. “I could never stop eating meat, though. It’s too tasty.”

“Exactly!” Daniel said. He jabbed his fork at Simon. “You just have more self-control than us. We can still care about animals and eat them at the same time, it’s just different.”

Simon sighed and said nothing more. He went back to eating his ‘rabbit food’, muttering under his breath half-heartedly. Markus wasn’t sure if it was actually possible for his new friend to be angry; so far, Simon had been nothing but shyly bubbly. He wondered what it would take for Simon to actually snap at someone.

“Hey, Josh, you agree with me, right?” Daniel asked, determined not to change the subject. He turned to the wizard in question, who hadn’t spoken in a couple of minutes. “Josh?”

Josh blinked and turned to look at him, as if he’d forgotten Daniel was there. “Hmm?”

Daniel gave a longsuffering sigh. “And you’re not even listening. What a supportive group of friends I have, huh? At least Markus is on my side.”

Markus nodded. “See? I’m an awesome friend to have around.” He glanced over at Josh, whose stare seemed fixed back on something behind Markus’ back. “What’re you looking at, anyway?”

“Cole.” Josh stated. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And that tragic-looking Stern kid who got sorted into Ravenclaw.”

Ah, yes, that. Markus hadn’t really been paying attention, but apparently the whole Stern-Ravenclaw thing was the most exciting revelation in Josh’s life, because he’d gasped loudly and turned to Markus with an expectant expression, as if he thought that Markus should be having the same reaction as him.

Markus hadn’t cared, really.

Neither, it seemed, had Daniel.

Daniel groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they stayed in their sockets. “Oh, leave it alone already. You’re obsessing over it. Somebody got sorted into Ravenclaw, big whoop. There’s hundreds of Ravenclaws.”

Simon mumbled something and stared adamantly down at his food, ducking out of the conversation before it even began. A smart move, on his part.

“Yeah, but weren’t you saying that the Sterns have been sorted into Slytherin for generations?” Markus pointed out, smirking to himself at Daniel’s sigh. He definitely didn’t understand Josh’s fascination with the whole debacle, but he did like seeing the annoyed expression that briefly flitted across Daniel’s face when he said it.

“Exactly!” Josh said. “I’ll bet his mother isn’t gonna be very happy about that. Just look at his _face!_ The kid looks like he just saw the ghost of Salazar Slytherin himself!”

“So? S’not our problem.” Daniel said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back as far as he could without falling off the bench. “If anything, it’s _Cole’s_ problem. We should just leave him to deal with the stupid Death Eater himself and see what happens by the end of the year.”

Simon’s head shot up at that, blue eyes widening comically. “He’s not a Death Eater!” He hissed, prior fascination with his food forgotten.

Markus blinked. “What’s a Death Eater?” He asked, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forwards. Was it just another wizard word for a pureblood? Or something entirely different? It certainly didn’t sound very pleasant.

Daniel smirked and lowered his voice, as if sharing a conspiracy. “Well, it’s—”

“It’s a stupid ghost story that people tell their kids so they don’t turn out stupid.” Simon cut in, glaring at his brother. “Daniel thinks they’re real, but I’m smart enough to know that there’s nothing like those _monsters_ in this world.”

It was the first time that Markus had ever heard Simon talk badly about someone, or _something_ , other than his brother.

Josh nodded. “Yeah, they’re not real. I remember when I was younger, my mum told me that if I didn’t pass all my Hogwarts classes the Death Eaters would convert me into one of their own.” He rolled his eyes. “I get that she didn’t want me to fail, but she didn’t have to make up such a preposterous story.”

Daniel stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “They _do_ exist! The world isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, y’know? There’s obviously gonna be some crazy pureblood extremists like—”

Apparently the world didn’t want him to finish that sentence, because Daniel was yet again interrupted by a first year girl—who Markus recognised as being named North. She’d been sorted quickly after Cole, one of the only other people Markus had payed attention to during their sorting.

“What’s this about pureblood extremists?”

She was sitting on the other side of Josh, and by the looks of things, she’d been listening to them talk for a while.

Daniel turned to glare at her. “None of your business.” He said. Markus repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the sudden alpha-male show that Daniel was putting on, puffing his chest out and sitting straighter just to look down at the girl.

“You do know that Death Eaters aren’t real, right?” The girl—North, said, tone mocking. She didn’t seem affected by Daniel’s display of dominance in the slightest. “If you’re dumb enough to believe they exist, then you probably deserve to be ‘taken’ by them.”

Daniel’s gaze darkened considerably. Markus rushed to intervene before there was an argument, holding his hand out and mustering a half-smile.

“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Markus.” He kept his voice light, pleasant, ignoring his instant distrust of the girl. He then gestured to each of his friends in order, naming them as he went. “And this is Josh, Simon, and Daniel.”

“Wow, really?” North rolled her eyes but shook his hand nonetheless, grip painfully strong. “I’m North, or whatever. I’m gonna assume your friend here is actually called naïve git, because he’s out here talking about Death Eaters like they’re real and all.”

Daniel made an offended noise, bristling at the jab, which only made North smirk more. Markus barely held back a sigh as Daniel opened his mouth to snap something back at North, but was stopped by Simon stepping in timidly, much to Markus’ surprise.

“Could we maybe…not fight?” Simon said, cutting over his brother quietly. “We’re all Gryffindors here, no need to treat each other like Slytherins.”

Daniel muttered something under his breath.

North barked a laugh. “Oh, he’s cute.” She sighed and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “I _suppose_ I can be civil, if _Danny_ here admits how utterly wrong he is.”

“I’m allowed to believe what I want to believe.” Daniel said, crossing his arms defiantly.

North snorted. “But it’s wrong, so no, you’re not.”

“We shouldn’t even be talking about this.” Josh said, deciding to join the conversation at the last minute. “Let’s just all agree that it’s stupid and this food is much better than arguing.”

That seemed to defuse the situation, because Daniel nodded and started to stuff his face. Markus glanced at Simon and they shared an exasperated look, while Josh properly introduced himself to North and the two of them, surprisingly, started having a pleasant conversation.

Markus went back to eating, too, his brain working through all of the new terms he’d heard that day. His question of what a Death Eater was hadn’t actually been answered, so he made a silent promise to himself that he’d ask Daniel about it later, when nobody else would be around to interrupt them and say it didn’t matter.

Even if it _was_ just a ghost story, everyone seemed to hate them, and Markus wanted to know why. It had something to do with pureblooded wizards, who he was pretty sure were just wizards who came from a long line of magical family. He was sure that there wasn’t anything inherently evil about the fact that somebody was more ‘pure of blood’ than somebody else.

He thought back to how the whole Death Eater conversation had started and made a note to ask Cole about the Stern kid the next time he saw him. Just to make sure that everything was okay.

After a few more minutes, Dumbledore once again stood up to make some last-minute announcements, which included the fact that Gryffindor first years would be having their classes with the Slytherin first years.

None of his friends were all that happy about the new development.

“Are you kidding me?” Josh groaned. “That’s unfair. They should pair Slytherin with Ravenclaw; they’re both supposed to be cunning or whatever.”

Daniel hit his head on the table a couple of times in his frustration. “That’s the stupidest idea anyone has ever had. Putting us with the Slytherins? Gryffindor and Slytherin have been rivals for Merlin-knows how long!”

Simon and North nodded their agreement.

Judging by the unhappy murmurings from the rest of the Gryffindor table as well as the glares and sneers from the Slytherin table, nobody else was very happy about this development, either.

Markus had to admit that, going off of everything he’d heard about Slytherin, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the experience. He didn’t complain, though, because there was nothing he could do to change the headmaster’s mind, and it was stupid to waste precious time and energy being angry about something that you could do nothing about.

At the end of Dumbledore’s short announcement, the prefects of each house were instructed to take the first years from their houses on a short tour of the castle before leading them to their common rooms.

Markus was pulled to his feet by an over-excited Daniel, who dragged both him and Simon over to where the prefects were waiting. Josh followed soon after, accompanied by North, who Daniel glared at whenever he had the chance and their gazes met. North didn’t seem all that fazed by the other wizard’s icy stare.

One of the Gryffindor prefects, male, gave Markus and his friends a smile as he waved them over.

“Hi there!” He said, dark eyes glittering. “I’m Jeffrey! I’ll be taking you guys on a short tour of the most important parts of the castle before I show you to the Gryffindor dorms.”

The girl at his side rolled her eyes. After a few seconds, all of the Gryffindor first years were gathered in a small group in front of the two prefects. They were lead through the doors to the Great Hall, out into the castle’s many corridors.

The male prefect, Jeffrey, seemed to take control of the tour. He pointed out all the most important places to know, the different classrooms that the first years needed to know, as well as a few bits of information and trivia about Hogwarts’ history in the wizarding world. It was actually really interesting, all the little stories about the four founders of each house.

“The Dungeons are home to the potions classroom, as well as the Slytherin common room.” Jeffrey said as they approached a dark looking stone staircase. “Potions is taught by Professor Snape. He hates Gryffindors, but if you shut your mouth and keep to the back of the classroom he’ll leave you alone.”

Jeffrey’s female counterpart nodded. “Plus, he’s the head of Slytherin, which means he’s totally biased. You’ll be having all your classes with the Slytherins this year, which means that potions probably won’t be your favourite class.”

Around them, the first years muttered to each other. Markus didn’t really care. He thought that potions would be boring, anyway, and honestly, how bad could a teacher really be?

They walked past the Dungeons, heading down another corridor. A large door was pushed open to reveal a huge room filled with staircases. The walls were covered in paintings, _moving_ paintings, the subjects of which waved and whispered as they saw the group on first years.

The paintings were the least exciting part of the room, however.

The dozens of staircases that lines the walls and floors far below kept drifting between points, the stairs shifting to reach a new, different doorway. Markus stared around in awe, heterochromatic eyes going wide.

“Whoa.” He breathed in a whisper. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s inconvenient, is what it is.” Josh said, raising an eyebrow. “We’re gonna get so lost on these stairs.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

“What? I’m just being realistic.” Josh pointed out. “There doesn’t really seem to be a discernible pattern. It’s just completely random luck.”

Jeffrey seemed to overhear them as he let the group take in the sight in front of him. He laughed, eyes crinkling warmly at the edges.

“There’s a pattern, most days,” Jeffrey told the two of them. “Today the stairs are just acting up. I have to admit that it did take a bit of getting used to, when I first got here. My friends and I were late to many a class because of these stairs. I’m ninety-percent sure that Salazar Slytherin designed them, judging by how they work.”

Josh shot Markus a look that clearly read _I told you so._ Markus rolled his eyes, and they continued on their tour of the castle. Thankfully, Jeffrey led the group through the staircases himself, knowing exactly which ones to use and pointing out the ones with false steps and dangerous routes. Through the many windows of the castle, Markus could see rain and wind battling it out in the night sky. The crash of thunder and the bright sparks of lighting that occasionally lit up the sky reminded Markus of when he was younger and he’d hide under his bed at night, listening to the calming sounds of the storm as he fell asleep.

He dimly remembered Leo actually being afraid of the bigger storms.

Markus didn’t miss Leo. Not exactly. He hadn’t really known him well enough for that. He missed the _old_ Leo, the one he knew he’d known as a child. The older brother who played catch with him because their dad couldn’t. The older brother who shared his dessert, who smiled and laughed when Markus made a crappy joke that nobody else understood. The older brother who actually _cared,_ even when it seemed stupid to.

He missed having somebody who always had his back. Somebody who protected him from the bullies. He guessed that finding out he was magic was just too much for Leo to handle, that the whole Hogwarts situation went to his head and made him the way he was now.

Wishful thinking was what brought the dreams of a happy, loving family to him late at night. Wishful little thoughts that he knew were never going to happen, not as long as Leo was off wherever he was, doing whatever it was he did with his life. Still, they were there, always nagging at the back of Markus’ mind, trying to get him to pay attention to his deepest wants and desires.

Markus shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts, returning his focus to the tour. The golden glow of the torches and lights filled the halls, dazzling Markus out of his memories. He didn’t usually like to think about Leo, and he wasn’t about to let the thoughts ruin the best day of his life so far.

The tour finished. Jeffrey stopped the group outside a painting of a large, round looking woman. Another moving painting, of course, because this was Hogwarts.

The woman was singing—or, trying to sing and failing horribly. Markus saw Simon screw his face up, but he stayed silent.

“This is the Fat Lady.” Jeffrey announced, eliciting a few giggles from the group. “She hides the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Every day there’s a new password, which is always written in the common room for you to remember.”

His female counterpart nodded and turned to the Fat Lady. “Today, the password is Pumpernickel.”

At the mention of the password, the Fat Lady abruptly ceased her hollering, and the painting swung forwards to reveal a door.

Jeffrey opened the door and led the first years inside, giving them all a moment to take in their surroundings.

The common room was primarily red in colour scheme, being Gryffindor, but the lights lining the walls and the several lamps cast it in a warm orange glow. Several small, red couches surrounded a crackling fireplace in the centre of the room. Through the elaborate windows, Markus saw the storm still raging outside, but the sounds were muffled by the thick stone walls to the point of near-silence.

A few of the older wizards were milling about, doing what looked to be homework, or simply lounging and chatting to one another. The common room held a feeling of cosiness and warmth, a pleasant weight enveloping him and immediately making him ten times more tired than he’d been a second ago.

“The boys’ dormitories are on the left, and the girls’ are to the right.” Jeffrey told them with a smile. “Whichever dorm you choose, your luggage will immediately appear in the middle of the room. Your class schedules will be delivered to you in the morning, and your first class should start at eight-thirty.”

The first years were left to scramble for a good dorm. Markus pulled his new friends along and ran up to where the boys’ dormitories were situated.

“In here!” Daniel yelled to be heard over the cacophony of excited first years. He gestured at one of the doors lining the walls before throwing it open and sprinting inside excitedly. Markus, Simon, and Josh followed, uttering a hushed apology to North as they pushed past.

The dorm that Daniel had chosen was fit for four people, with a quad of four-poster beds taking up residence along the rounded walls. As Jeffrey had said, four different trunks materialised in the middle of the room, along with an owl cage that contained a gruff-looking barn owl.

Josh grabbed his luggage and the owl cage and headed over to one of the beds, the one closest to the entrance.

Simon and Daniel took their stuff and chose beds opposite each other, leaving lots of space between them.

Markus stepped forwards and took his trunk by the handle, dragging it over to the last remaining bed, in-between Daniel and Simon. He threw himself onto the plush covers, sinking into the mattress.

“Oh, these beds are so _sooooft_.” Daniel exclaimed, falling onto his own bed. “It’s like I’m sleeping on a cloud.”

Josh hummed his agreement. “I could fall asleep right now.”

Markus was inclined to agree. He yawned, exhaustion taking over. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen asleep earlier, after such an eventful day. He’d learned about so much, so many new wizarding terms and traditions. Muggles, purebloods, the Sorting Hat, all of the house founders, Death Eaters—

Death Eaters. He raised his head to look at Daniel, remembering that he wanted the other wizard to explain what they actually were.

“Hey, Daniel?” Markus started. When Daniel looked up, he continued. “Can I talk to you outside for a second?”

Daniel nodded, looking confused. “…sure, I guess.” He clumsily climbed off his bed and followed as Markus crept back out of their room. Josh and Simon exchanged bewildered looks, but didn’t say anything as Markus and Daniel left them alone.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Markus turned to look at Daniel.

“I wanna know what Death Eaters are.” He declared. “And I know that Josh and Simon won’t give me a straight answer.”

Daniel smirked. “Does this mean you believe in them?”

“I don’t even know what they are, Daniel.” Markus pointed out. “How am I supposed to decide whether I believe in them or not if I have no idea what they are?”

“Fair point.”

“So, you gonna _tell_ me what they are?”

Daniel hesitated for a moment, eyes going distant. “You actually want to know the truth about what they are? No sugar-coating?”

“No sugar-coating.” Markus said in agreement. “I want to know everything about the wizarding world, not just the crazily-awesome parts. I need to know there’s darkness so I know that this isn’t all a dreamscape.”

A second of silence.

“Okay,” Daniel took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before they fluttered back open. “As you know, most people think that Death Eaters a just a…a ghost story, of sorts. Something that paranoid mothers made up to motivate their children to obey orders and do well in their schoolwork. According to the rumours, Death Eaters are extremist pureblood wizards who want to rid the world of muggleborns, because they see them as disgusting and wrong.”

“There’s loads of purebloods that don’t like muggleborns, that’s real.” Daniel went on. “But nobody actually believes that any of them are Death Eaters. Like what I was saying about the Sterns, they hate muggleborns, but I doubt anybody would actually believe they were genocidal. Anybody, that is, except me. In the legend, Death Eaters are branded with a circular burn-mark on their right temple at the age of sixteen. That’s supposed to be how you spot ‘em.”

“Apparently, the Death Eaters serve this evil dude known as the Dark Lord.” Daniel said. “The Dark Lord is supposed to be this crazy man who thinks that muggleborns existing is like, I don’t know, corrupting everyone else’s magic; making us weaker, somehow. Nobody actually believes he exists, and even I think that’s a little far-fetched. _I_ think that Death Eaters exist, but they’re delusional and crazy and they think they’re serving this so-called Dark Lord when they’re actually just being mean for the sake of it.”

“That would make sense.” Markus mused. “There’s loads of muggles who pretend they’re serving some master or whatever so they can get away with being terrible people.”

Daniel nodded. “Anyway, _supposedly,_ Death Eaters were around a long time ago. Like, back when Hogwarts was first founded. Apparently, that’s why the rumours about them existing are a thing, because if they existed once, why wouldn’t they still be around, right? More and more people are starting to say that the Death Eaters are returning, and another Purge is going to happen.”

Markus tilted his head. “A…Purge?”

“Yeah.” Daniel shuddered. “According to legend, back when Death Eaters were a real, well-known thing, they had this thing called a Purge, where they sacrificed hundreds of muggleborns to make their Dark Lord immortal so that he could continue reigning terror over the continent. I don’t think that’s gonna happen again, but I’m certain that there’s still Death Eaters around, especially now that the Sterns and some other pureblood families have been getting much more attention.”

“Wow, that’s…dark.” Markus said with a shiver. “I’m glad you told me, though.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “So, do you believe me? Do you think they’re real?”

Markus thought for a moment. It certainly sounded… _plausible,_ especially when he’d lived in the muggle world for his whole life and he knew exactly what people would do when they thought they were doing something good. There was obviously going to be people like the Sterns, people who hated muggleborns simply because they were allowed to. It wasn’t as far-fetched as Simon and Josh, and even North, had seemed to think it was.

Then again, if everyone except Daniel were so sure of it being fake, then there was probably less truth in what is friend was saying than he thought.

“I…I don’t know.” Markus admitted with a sigh. “It definitely sounds possible, but…I really don’t know.”

Daniel nodded. “That’s okay. At least you listened to me; nobody else does. Even Simon thinks I’m being stupid whenever I talk about it. That’s why he stopped me earlier, because he didn’t want me to drive you off with my ‘crazy conspiracy theories’.”

“I don’t think they’re crazy.” Markus assured him. He heard laughter from their room, and he gave a rueful smile. “I guess we’d better get back. I don’t want to miss out on all the fun.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” Daniel said with a smirk. He led the way back inside, and said nothing when Simon and Josh asked him what he and Markus had been talking about.

After a half-hour of chatter and joking around, they all got into their pyjamas and brushed their teeth before climbing into bed for the night.

Markus sank into his cushions and pulled the curtains of his four-poster bed closed around him, slipping into comfortable darkness. As he fell asleep, thoughts of purebloods and Death Eaters whirled in his head. Images of the Stern kid in Ravenclaw murdering Cole in his sleep haunted him, chased him into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Come morning, however, all his worries about Death Eaters had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just threw a lot of plot at all of your faces, and I'm not sorry.
> 
> Next there's some nice, day-to-day activity before stuff happens, so you have plenty of time to speculate.
> 
> As always, thank you all for leaving kudos and comments, it all means so much to me <33


	9. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of class brings a whole new world of uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O O F I'm not very happy with how this came out. The pacing is kind of...all over the place.

_Breathing. Shallow, rapid breathing. It fogged up in the air, filling the closet with muffled gasps and dry sobs._

_It was his breathing, he was sure of it. It was weak and feeble, just like he was._

_“Filthy mudblooded traitor!” Bellowed a familiar voice. Amanda’s voice. Connor whimpered, shrinking back into the darkness that enveloped him. “You’re a failure! A disappointment to the Stern name!”_

_The sounds of Conan’s laughter followed. “I knew you could never be as good as me. You should have listened better, Connor. You should have tried harder. You know that this is all your fault, right?”_

_Connor flinched and burrowed himself deeper into the closet, clutching his hands to his chest in a feeble attempt at comfort. He’d failed. He’d failed them all. This was all his fault, everything was his fault._

_“Come out so I can fix you!” Amanda’s shrill screams continued. “Come out so I can make this better! You can still make it up to me, Connor! You can still fix this, if you just **come out**!”_

_Connor bit back a wail, tears slowly making their way down his cheeks. His breathing was coming in short gasps, nearing sobs, barely enough to sustain him for much longer. The robes and coats hanging in the closet were suffocating him, tendrils of darkness snaking their way around his neck and cutting of his meagre air supply._

_“Connor,” Conan’s singsong voice returned. It was mocking him, belittling him. “Listen to Amanda, brother. Don’t you want to fix your mistakes? Don’t you care what you’ve done?”_

_Connor backed away until he felt the back of the closet against his spine. The darkness was growing, breathing, pressing against him and robbing him of the oxygen he so desperately needed. He sobbed, the waterfall of tears gushing from his eyes violently. It hurt, Merlin, **it hurt**. _

_It felt like the tears were molten liquid being forcefully pulled from his eyes. It felt like his chest was on fire, screaming for oxygen even though there was none. He was suffocating, being dragged into darkness as screams of murder and fear threatened to deafen him._

_Connor curled into a ball on the ground, wrapping his arms around his head and trying to drown out the noise, the static in his head. It didn’t work. If anything, it made everything ten times worse. A sharp pain shot through his right temple._

_He sobbed, the sound raw and vicious in the darkness of the closet._

_“You filthy mudblood! A disgrace to our family, a disgrace to the wizarding world! A runt, a weakling! You don’t deserve all I’ve given to you!”_

_Amanda’s yelling didn’t cease, but all of a sudden the closet’s door was opened. Light, blinding, harsh light, filled his vision. A silhouette blocked his vision, holding a wand in its left hand. Connor whimpered, staring up at his brother’s form as he stepped forward once, twice, and then pressed the tip of his wand against Connor’s right temple._

_“C-C-Conan?” Connor choked out through the fear blocking his airway. “Conan? What…?”_

_The silhouette spoke, but it wasn’t Conan’s voice. It was garbled and terrifying, followed by maddeningly loud giggles that echoed in Connor’s head and made his vision darken._

_“You should never have been born, brother.”_

When Connor woke, he was drenched in sweat and gasping for air. His mind burned with the memory of the dream, already fading away to a distant impression of fear and panic. He scrambled desperately to gather his thoughts, but it was like grasping at smoke; the memories dissipating only to reappear as a garbled, distorted mess.

Forgetting things was something that happened to him often. Losing thoughts and memories to the fog of his mind wasn’t very uncommon, but they always returned eventually, even if they were slightly different or hard to decipher.

Connor took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm himself. The nightmare was already half-forgotten. It was fine, he supposed. Better have no idea what he was afraid of than to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of the day, worried about evil hiding around corners and shadows following him wherever he went.

Jumbled words lingered in the back of his mind, the sounds of incoherent screams and shouts thrown in the mix memories. Connor wasn’t sure what they meant; all he could make out was a string of meaningless words that didn’t tell him anything.

_Conan. Amanda. Not enough. Too much. Mudblood. Family. Power. Anderson. Stern. Not enough. Disappointment. Disgrace. Not enough. Family. Power. Power. Too much. Pain. Fear. Stop. Please. No. Power. Pain. Fear. Need. Want. You. Please. Death. No more._

Useless nonsense.

Connor shook his head and blinked away the fuzz in his vision. His chest was still fluttering madly with each laboured breath he took in, but he was lucid enough to know he was okay, he was awake now. The person who could immediately make him feel better was right there—

He looked to the left, searching for Conan’s face, but found only blue curtains in his wake. In his sleepy haze of existence, it wasn’t strange at all. He figured he would just open the curtains, and then he’d see Conan watching him from his side of the room. His memories of the night prior were muddled and incoherent, but the word _Slytherin_ kept echoing in his mind.

Slowly, he got his breathing back under control and sat up, only to be hit with the realisation of where he was.

Blue curtains. Blue bedsheets. The kitten curled at his side. The quiet sounds of hushed conversation from somewhere nearby. Blue roof. Blue walls. Blue. _Blue._

It all came crashing back in a painful wave. The sorting, the look of disappointment on Conan’s face, everything. Connor put his head in his hands, his breathing already spinning out of control all over again. It felt so _wrong._ Nothing was normal. Down was up. White was black. Slytherin was Ravenclaw.

 _Connor_ was a _failure_.

He shook his head and forced himself to swallow the lump of fear in his throat. Being afraid wouldn’t do anything. He could fix this, he _would_ fix this, but first he needed to calm down. He needed to—he needed to do something. Distract himself.

If Conan were there, he would have been able to distract Connor simply with the sound of his voice, the lilting tone that reminded Connor that there was good in the world. But Conan was gone, which meant that Connor had to deal with his turbulent emotions on his own, which he was horrible at.

Hermes mewled pathetically and stretched out in his sleep, claws snagging Connor’s…robes? He looked down at himself and remembered that he hadn’t bothered to change before going to bed, because he’d been too busy losing his mind.

How disgusting of him. He’d let his emotions get the best of him, just like what Amanda had trained him _not_ to do.

It was too much, too hard to believe. He fell back against the mattress and slammed his head into the pillows as hard as possible, grunting in frustration. He ran his hands over his face and slowly breathed out, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds before opening them again. This was quite possibly the worst morning in his life, and he’d only just woken up. Woken up from a terrible nightmare to a room filled with too much blue and not enough Conan.

Suddenly, before he was ready to even think about facing the world, the blue curtains surrounding him were pulled back. Cole’s face peered at him curiously, and when he saw Connor’s eyes open a sheepish smile crept onto his face.

“Sorry,” Cole said as Connor blinked at him, trying to clear his vision. “I thought you were still asleep. Just wanted to let you know that we’ve gotta be ready for breakfast in fifteen minutes.”

Oh. Right. The world would keep moving, with him or without him. Breakfast was a thing he had to do, even if the thought of eating made him nauseous.

Connor gave a curt nod, slowly pushing himself up to stand. After a few moments of awkwardly staring at one another, Connor reluctantly spoke up.

“T-Thank you.” He muttered, not meeting Cole’s gaze. He didn’t have to look at the other wizard to see the wide grin that broke free over his features. He almost looked…proud?

Cole’s hand hovered uncertainly over Connor’s shoulder. After a second, he decided against touching Connor at all and just gave another smile, blue eyes glittering in the morning light. They were too much like Conan’s, except instead of cold and blank, they were filled with unbridled emotion. Connor wondered how intensely the other wizard felt, for it all to be visible so easily.

He then wondered if that was what he looked like, which just made him repress a disgusted shudder.

“I’ll give you a couple minutes to get ready, then.” Cole told him. He then turned around to leave the room, but glanced back to say one last thing.

“I like your cat. He’s cute.”

Once Connor had showered and managed to clean himself up for the day, he slowly made his way out of the bathroom. His hand hovered over the door to the common room, fingers shaking despite his best efforts to stop them. It would have been much easier to just crawl back into bed and sleep for a century, but that wasn’t an option. _Escape_ wasn’t an option.

Which meant that he had to face the Great Hall again. Without the safety blanket of fog that had taken over his mind the night prior. He was already dreading it, and he wasn’t even out of the bedroom yet.

He was in uncharted territory, now, and it wasn’t exciting at all. No, it was terrifying and dark, and he couldn’t see anything except his own fear. He was lost, without a single light to direct him, nor the guiding hand of Conan or Amanda leading him through the mist.

_I hate this. I hate this so much._

He willed himself to stop shaking and took a deep breath to settle his nerves as best he could. He smoothed down the front of his robes, trying to ignore the fact that there was a blue tie around his neck. The colour grated on him, incessantly reminding him of his failure. He wanted to rid the world of all of its blue, just so he didn’t have to remember.

He didn’t even remember where anything in the castle was located. The tour that the prefects had taken them all on last night was a hazy, fear-ridden memory that contained no information that could stop him from getting lost at all. He just…he just had to stick near Cole, and hope the other wizard knew where everything was.

He just had to hope that Cole wasn’t as much of a failure as he.

Letting out a shaky breath, Connor leaned his head against the door and covered his face. There were already tears stinging at the back of his eyes, but he rapidly blinked them away. Amanda would be disappointed in his inability to control his emotions properly. Conan could wrangle his useless feelings with ease, lock them away in the depths of his mind, never to be seen again. Connor envied him.

Finally, he summoned the courage to open the door. His trembling hand slowly turned the doorknob, flinching at the loud creaking sound that the door made as it opened. He was immediately met with Cole’s smiling face, once again with its warmth and friendliness directed at him, of all people.

“There you are!” Cole chirped cheerfully. “You ready to go?”

Connor blinked.

The other wizard had been _waiting_ for him, standing outside the room while leaning against the wall. He could have gone ahead— _should_ have gone ahead, but he’d chosen to stay, to wait for Connor to finish getting ready. Something warm bubbled in Connor’s stomach for a few seconds before he was hit with the realisation that _Cole was a half-blood._

He’d been too preoccupied—too stupid—the night before to recognise the name Anderson. He should have recognised the name, should have realised why Cole’s older brother was being so rude to him. The Andersons were one of the most troublesome families for Amanda’s circle. They were advocates for mudblood rights, and they were _very_ vocal about their unhappiness with what Connor’s family was doing.

Surely Cole knew who Connor was. The Sterns were infamous for their views and their movements, so even if Cole’s parents didn’t talk to him about their work, he should have known what it was that Connor’s family did. Their families were polar opposites. If anything, Cole should have yelled at him the second he was sorted into Ravenclaw.

So why…why was he being so _friendly?_

Was it stupidity? Pity? Or was it something different, something Connor’s limited knowledge of social ques couldn’t decipher?

He realised that Cole was looking at him expectantly. Right, he’d asked a question, hadn’t he?

“Y-Yes. I’m…I’m ready.” Connor said quietly, not meeting Cole’s stare. He shifted uncomfortably under the other wizard’s gaze, feeling as though something was crawling over his skin.

Cole beamed and grabbed his arm. “Okay!”

He didn’t seem to consciously realise that he was holding Connor’s arm as he started to head out. Even if he did, it wouldn’t have meant anything to him, but it meant something to Connor. It meant a lot of things to Connor, a lot of confusing, contradictory things.

Cole, a half-blood traitor, was doing what Conan was supposed to do. A filthy amalgamation of muggle and wizard was touching him. And he simultaneously liked it and hated it.

Connor sighed as Cole led him back to the Great Hall. He was much too exhausted to even attempt to understand why this was all so confusing, why nothing was making the slightest bit of sense. He unconsciously sought after Cole’s warmth, following him just to escape the cold of the rest of the castle.

He didn’t even stop to wonder what would happen if Conan saw him like this.

“Okay, so first up we’ve got charms,” Cole read off their timetable, “with Professor Flitwick.” His eyes lit up. “He’s supposed to be really nice.”

Connor nodded half-heartedly, slowly picking at his breakfast. Cole had, once again, pressured him to eat, and so he was eating. Somehow, Cole had an aura that made him not want to refuse him or disappoint him in any way. Kind of like Amanda, which, he supposed, was comforting.

In a weird, unconventional way.

“Then we have Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall.” Cole spoke through a mouthful of porridge. His nose screwed up as he read, eyes squinting to make out the words. “And then we have a break between classes.”

The Great Hall was less noisy in the morning. Whereas the night before it had been an explosion of noise and excitement, now everybody seemed to have calmed down to a degree. People ate their food, spoke to their friends, but they weren’t yelling and whooping anymore. It was much less anxiety-inducing, that was for sure.

He kept sneaking glances at the Slytherin table, searching for his brother, but Conan didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. Part of him was relieved, knowing that Conan would have yelled at him or shown his disappointment and it would have taken all of Connor’s energy not to melt into a puddle and die.

Another part of him needed to apologise, to explain, to beg for forgiveness even if it meant losing any shred of dignity he had left. If he hadn’t been so stupid, if he hadn’t let the hat see his weaknesses—

Cole sighed heavily and shook his head. “We have potions last.” He complained. “Snape’s really mean. He’s supposed to, like, hate everyone that isn’t a Slytherin.”

“If that’s the case, he’s going to _despise_ me.” Connor said without thinking. He blinked, flinching at his own words. That was disrespectful. He hadn’t—he didn’t—

Cole didn’t seem to care; if anything, he looked happy that Connor had actually spoken.

“Why’s that?”

_Because I betrayed Slytherin the second the Sorting Hat landed on my head._

Connor opened his mouth, closed it again and shook his head. “N-Nevermind.”

The Charms classroom was located on the third floor, in the Charms corridor. It was a pleasant looking room, filled with natural light and old, battered books. A window on the far wall was where the professor, Professor Flitwick, stood. He was short. Very short.

The students, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students, were situated on either side of the classroom, sitting in rows. Connor sat next to Cole, worried less about the fact that he was a half-blood and a Ravenclaw now that he was situated in a classroom full of them.

“Now, in this class you will learn many important charms that are crucial for every witch and wizard to know.” Professor Flitwick was saying. He stood on top of a stool in order for everyone to be able to see him. Very, _very_ short. “This lesson, you will be learning the spell Wingardium Leviosa. Can anybody tell me what Wingardium Leviosa does?”

Nobody raised their hand. Connor knew the answer; of course he knew the answer. Amanda hadn’t raised an idiot. Wingardium Leviosa was a basic, but crucial, levitation charm, one that every wizard needed to know in order to function. He didn’t raise his hand, though. If nobody else knew, then he wanted to blend in. It would be embarrassing to be the only one to answer.

Professor Flitwick gave a small sigh at the lack of answers and opened his mouth to speak again, but a Hufflepuff girl sitting next to Cole timidly raised her hand. Connor hadn’t seen her before, as she looked so small and… _uninteresting_ that he hadn’t paid her any notice.

“Yes, Miss…?”

“Williams, sir. Kara Williams.”

Flitwick smiled. “Yes, Miss Williams?”

Kara gave a strained, nervous smile. “Wingardium Leviosa is a levitation charm, sir.”

The Professor clapped his hands together. “Wonderful, ten points to Hufflepuff!” He turned to address the whole class. “Miss Williams is indeed correct. Today you will be learning the levitation charm by practicing on the feathers you will find atop your desks.”

He gestured at the chalkboard behind him. “Now, the incantation for the spell is, of course, Wingardium Leviosa. Saying the incantation clearly and properly is one of the most important parts of spellcasting. The action is a simple swish—” he demonstrated with his own wand, “—and _flick,_ like so.”

He cast the spell, wand moving gracefully in the air as he uttered the incantation. In front of him, a large, white feather started to lift from the table it had been laying atop, floating into the air delicately. The class watched, a few muffled _oooohs and ahhhs_ travelling through the small classroom. Connor wasn’t very impressed, as he’d practiced the spell in the safety of his home and he knew exactly how to cast it. Cole, on the other hand, seemed much too excited, seeing such a basic display of magic.

“Connor, did you see that?” Cole whispered loudly. “That’s so cool!”

Connor, after a few moments of deliberation, decided to answer his new…friend? No, not friend. _Never_ friend. Cole was an acquaintance, a half-blood acquaintance that he was only _keeping around_ as a _precaution_. He was in control. He had to be in control.

“I-It’s a very basic spell.” Connor pointed out. “It’s not that impressive, when you think about its use and the fact that it is taught to first year wizards in their first charms class.”

He didn’t realise that his stutter was already fading as he accidentally let himself grow comfortable in Cole’s presence. He wouldn’t have found it reassuring, if he had noticed.

Cole sighed and rolled his eyes. “You have really high standards, don’t you?”

 _Maybe your standards are just too low,_ Connor almost said. He didn’t, thankfully, fearing it would either be too familiar (Merlin forbid he gets chummy with a _half-breed)_ or come off as rude; and despite his hatred of muggleborns and half-bloods, Connor never wanted to come off rude, even to a lesser wizard.

Amanda had always tried to stamp his useless politeness out of him, but it never seemed to work. Just another thing to add to the list of disappointments he had compiled over his lifetime.

“Okay, lemme try this.” Cole said. He glared at the feather on his desk as if he was able to make it move with sheer force of will. It would have been amusing, if he weren’t a half-blood and a Ravenclaw. He waved his wand in a semblance of what had been demonstrated. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Just as Connor had expected, nothing happened. Cole’s wand movement was jerky and uneven, and he was mispronouncing the incantation something horrid. He tried again, uttering the spell a little more firmly. The feather twitched, but stayed stubbornly on the desk’s surface.

The room was filled with the sounds of frustrated first years and mispronounced spells. On the other side of the classroom, a Ravenclaw boy threw his feather in the air and claimed to have successfully cast the spell, only to have the feather catch on fire as soon as the lie left his mouth. Cole saw this happen and dissolved into a fit of maddening giggles. Connor barely repressed his own amusement.

He looked down at his feather, uninterested. Raising his wand, he stared the feather down and shifted, still not used to the wand’s weight in his hand. Cole was watching him, silently encouraging him with his gaze. Something akin to what Conan had always done. It was, once again, a striking resemblance.

“Wingardium Leviosa.” Connor whispered, flicking his wrist upwards as the spell was uttered.

It worked, of course. The feather twitched, and then slowly began to float upwards into the air. He moved his wand slightly, leading it over to float down onto Cole’s head. Just to make a point of showing Cole how easily the spell was cast. That’s all. It wasn’t—it wasn’t a joke, or anything, it just—

Cole’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow,” he said. “You’re really good at magic!”

“I believe we’ve just had our first _real_ success!” Professor Flitwick announced as he watched Connor’s feather float. The kid who’d thrown his feather pouted. “What’s your name, my boy?”

Connor blinked and let the feather fall from the air, landing it on Cole’s head like he’d been trying to make it do. He turned stiffly to look at the Professor, shrinking in on himself when he realised that everyone was watching him.

“C-Connor. Stern.” He stuttered out. He pretended not to notice the girl on the other side of the room that made a distinct, snakelike hissing sound as she glared at him and mouthed the word ‘snake’.

Flitwick was oblivious to his discomfort. He clapped his hands together and smiled. “Well, I can tell you’re obviously a talented wizard. I’m looking forward to seeing what else you can do in my classes.”

He turned back to the rest of the class and instructed them to keep attempting the spell. Connor stared down at his desk, fidgeting with his hands. He hated being put on the spot like that. There wasn’t enough time to prepare, not enough time to think about what he needed to say and how to say it. There were too many possibilities and ways that the situation could go wrong.

“Hey, Connor?” Cole started, sounding wary. “Could you…could you help me with this? I’m pretty sure I’m doing something wrong.”

Connor blinked, raising his head. Nobody had ever asked him to help them before. He’d always been the lesser spellcaster, the incompetent one. He’d always been the one asking for help, be it from Amanda or Conan, or even one of the specialised trainers that Amanda had hired. Not once had Connor ever been seen as the superior, the better of two options.

He felt a rush of pride.

“O-Okay.” He said, wincing at the stutter. Cole’s face lit up, and Connor felt himself relaxing again, warmth seeping into his bones.

They turned to face one another properly, and Connor brandished his wand, finally able to be confident about something. He _knew_ how to do this. He knew exactly how to do this, and now he was helping somebody else.

It was kind of surreal.

“Your—your wand movements are too erratic. You have to move more fluidly, like this—”

Cole waved his wand, following Connor’s movements. He uttered the incantation and flicked his wand upwards as Connor had instructed, but again the only result was the feather twitching in place somewhat.

“—and you’re pronouncing the incantation wrong. It’s _Leviosa_ , not Leviosa _._ ”

Cole giggled, then gave a rueful smile at Connor’s confused look. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just sounded so…silly, saying that.”

Connor expected himself to be offended, but he just felt his mouth twitch into a small, involuntary smile. He shook his head slightly, pushing the strange, turbulent happiness into the back of his mind as he told Cole to try again, hoping that nobody had noticed.

Unfortunately, Cole definitely hadn’t missed his errant smile, because when Connor met his gaze again he was _beaming._ Still, thankfully he didn’t mention it, and he just went back to attempting the spell.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The feather jolted a little, hovering slightly above the desk for a second before falling down again. Cole seemed spurred on by this new development, raising his wand again and again as he nearly shouted the incantation with excitement.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The feather raised itself the slightest bit higher into the air before dropping, this time. Connor watched, something akin to pride creeping into his mind at the knowledge that he was the reason that Cole’s spell was working, however slowly progress was being made.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa!”_

With a slight jolt, the feather lifted into the air. Connor couldn’t help but notice that it was far less elegant and much jerkier in its movements than his had been, but the look of sheer joy on Cole’s face was enough to stop him from saying it outright.

Cole stared at his feather, a grin written across his features. He lifted the feather higher, higher, until he decided to drop it down onto Professor Flitwick’s desk with a cry of accomplishment.

“Yes!” Cole exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. He turned to Connor, eyes wide and glittering with excitement. “Did you _see_ that? I just cast my first ever spell and it _worked!_ It worked, it worked, it worked!”

Connor blinked, surprised by Cole’s enthusiasm. It _was_ just a spell. A basic spell, at that. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling when he saw Cole’s beaming face, feeling the corners of his own mouth tugging upwards against his will and better judgment.

“I’m gonna be the greatest wizard ever to have lived!” Cole continued excitedly. “A rival to Merlin himself! You’ll all bow to me!”

A sound escaped Connor’s mouth, something akin to the quiet laugh Cole had done earlier.

_What…?_

He blinked, eyes going wide at the sound as his hands raised to cover his mouth. He felt his chest stutter as he sucked in a breath through his fingers, heart skipping a beat in slight panic. He’d never made that sound before. Was something wrong with him? Was he lowering his worth to that of a half-breed?

Cole glanced at him, gaze softening. “Are you okay?”

Connor forced himself to nod. His hands drifted back to sit in his lap, and he swallowed the lingering fear from hearing such a sound escape himself.

“Yes…I’m f-fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The problem with what I've done is that knowing that the next chapter will be Markus' perspective means that I have to condense a bunch of Connor's bullshit into 4500 words and it's Very Hard. I'm really sorry if the quality and pacing of the next few chapters is kind of...terrible, but it's the best I can do at this point.
> 
> With that said, thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and comments! I say this every time, but they really make me work harder, so if you want to see more of this more quickly, maybe leave a comment <333


	10. Class With The Lads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonists finally meet
> 
> 28-1-19 EDIT: I removed the last part so I could flesh it out more in a different chapter. It was kind of weird and too rushed, so I'm gonna work on it for a bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, PLEASE excuse how terrible this chapter is. There's probably errors, and I know the pacing's literal trash, but I'm kinda struggling at the moment so take this dumpster-fire of a chapter and run with it.
> 
> Also, 1000+ hits??? Thank you so much?? I'm actually crying in the club rn

“This is so _unfair!”_ Daniel exclaimed the second the five of them—North included, much to Daniel’s dismay—walked out of the Potions classroom. “I can’t believe Snape gave me detention for the _whole week!”_

Josh rolled his eyes, shifting the parchment and books in his arms. “You spoke out of turn, dude. Any teacher in their right mind would have gotten you in trouble.”

“Not for the whole week, though!” Daniel cried. He whirled around to look at North. “You agree with me, right? This is stupid!”

North sighed and crossed her arms, “I may not like him, Josh, but I have to side with Danny here. Snape’s an ugly, greasy, mother-loving _git_ who thinks like a snake, acts like a snake, and will always be a snake.”

Markus silently agreed, although he’d never say such a thing aloud. Their first Potions class of the year hadn’t gone very well. Within five minutes, Professor Snape had given Slytherin twenty-five points and taken thirty from Gryffindor. The Potions teacher seemed hell-bent on showering his own house with praise while making sure to make every Gryffindor’s life terrible. Just as Jeffrey had warned them, during the tour the night prior.

Daniel huffed angrily, not finished with his complaints. Rants from the other wizard were seemingly very common, and while they were pretty entertaining, Markus wondered how Daniel could be this energised all the time.

“So _I_ can’t ask Simon a question about what powdered moonstone is, but bloody _Stern_ and his _mates_ can get away with calling tragic Lucy a mudblood?”

“He’s a Slytherin.” Simon pointed out tiredly. “Snape would never get one of his own in trouble like that, especially a Slytherin as slimy as Stern.”

Conan Stern. Slytherin’s resident hero. Markus hadn’t wanted to judge him early, before they’d had classes together, but it did feel like his friends’ comments about him being horrible were true. He and his gang of friends were definitely Professor Snape’s favourites, and that definitely wasn’t a _good_ thing. The first thing Conan did? Insult a girl for being muggleborn before he’d even sat down. Definitely not somebody Markus wanted to be friends with.

He wasn’t even the _normal_ kind of mean, though. His friend, Gavin Reed, was one of the typical school bully figures, but Conan was different. He was…colder, less expressive with his insults. Markus didn’t think he was even trying to be insulting, that Conan just truly believed everything he was saying to those poor wizards that just so happened to have muggle parents. It was kind of creepy, how cold and emotionless he’d been when calling that poor girl those names.

Thankfully, Conan hadn’t said anything to Markus or any of his friends, because he was sure that Daniel would have gotten a lot more than just a week’s detention. North, too, wouldn’t have fared well.

“Well, class is over now.” Markus said, patting Daniel on the shoulder. “So there’s nothing we can do about it, and we don’t have to see Snape for at least thirty hours.”

North scoffed. “There’s something we can do about that Conan kid, though,” she said, scowling. “We can teach him a lesson about basic manners.”

“Like you’d know anything about basic manners, North.” Josh teased, ducking away as North tried to smack him with her Potions book. Simon snorted, rolling his eyes at Markus.

“So, we gonna go find a spot to hang out before we’re stuck in the dungeons forever, never to return?” Simon asked, glancing around. “Markus, didn’t you say Cole told you about a good spot? We could meet him there and regroup.”

Markus nodded. “Okay, yeah. We’ll go see Cole, and the hundreds of new friends he’s probably already made, considering how outgoing he is.”

Daniel huffed, probably irritated that they were no longer listening to his ranting. “He makes friends too easily. I mean, he invited us into your carriage to share all his sweets, even though we could’ve been Slytherins!”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s _nice._ ” Simon said, bumping Daniel’s shoulder. “Not that you’d know anything about being nice, right?”

“Who’s Cole?” North questioned, cutting off Daniel’s annoyed reply. Her brown gaze met Markus’. “Some boyfriend of yours?”

“He’s a friend.” Markus told her. “He and his brother took me to Diagon Alley when my dad couldn’t. He was sorted into Ravenclaw last night, though, so I wanted to make sure we met up again.”

“So he’s cool?”

“Yeah, he’s cool.”

North nodded, satisfied. “’kay.”

They made their way out of the dungeons. The cold, eternally-damp stone walls were getting on Markus’ nerves, anyway. He’d much preferred Transfiguration to Potions, and not just because Professor McGonagall was so much cooler than Snape. Transfiguration was really interesting, but Potions was just sitting in a dark, damp room that reeked of dead things while the teacher yelled at you for talking and didn’t actually teach you anything.

Markus had been a little disappointed when their first classes hadn’t involved learning any spells, but he understood that the teachers probably wanted the class to understand the theory of magic before they actually performed the spells. It was disappointing, sure, but at least they were building up to actual spells.

It was still better than muggle school.

Cole’s hangout spot was outside the castle, near Hagrid the Gamekeeper’s little cottage. Thankfully, the storm from last night had let up, so Markus and his friends were able to comfortably sit outside while they waited for Cole to meet them with whoever had become his friend within the past twenty-four hours.

“The grass is so green!” Simon exclaimed. He’d been wandering around a bit, exploring the fields around the Gamekeeper’s cottage. “It’s so nice here.”

It definitely was more peaceful outside. There were a few other groups of wizards dotting the area, but they were all relatively quiet and didn’t seem to be likely to bother Markus and his friends. Mostly older wizards catching up on their homework in the quiet ambience of the outside world. Markus found himself wishing that he had his sketchpad with him, so he could practice drawing the beautiful landscape surrounding the castle.

His father, Carl, was an artist. His artistic abilities and love for drawing and painting had seemed to carry over to Markus. Whether it was genes or just a coincidence, Markus absolutely loved being creative and bringing his imaginations to life with pencils and charcoal. He wondered if art was as sought for in the magical world as it was in the muggle world.

“How did Cole know about this place if he’d never been to Hogwarts before?” North asked. She was leaning against the outer walls of the castle, the lunch she’d taken from the Great Hall sitting on a plate in her lap.

“He has an older brother here, named Hank. He probably told Cole about the best places to hang out.” Markus told her. That’s what he thought must have happened, because Hank did seem like the kind of guy to give Cole an unfair advantage, even in such an unimportant situation as knowing where to sit.

“Huh.” North bobbed her head, lazily watching Simon chase a butterfly through the grass. “Makes sense.”

“Cole’s basically the human embodiment of sunshine.” Daniel informed her. “Don’t look directly at him or you’ll be blinded.”

North snorted. “I sincerely doubt that, Danny. You just can’t handle positivity in your life, and every time it shows its face you run away. I mean, you do it with Simon, you do it with—”

Cole’s voice, sounding from somewhere behind them, cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

“Markus! Hey, Markus!”

Markus turned around to see a smiling Cole running towards them, waving an arm in the air. The wind blew his sandy hair into his face, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest. He was dragging another kid behind him, who had their head down and looked very uncomfortable with Cole’s enthusiasm. Or maybe they were just trying to keep up with Cole’s overexcited running. Markus felt bad for them, but in an amused sort of way. Nobody would ever be able to keep up with Cole’s enthusiastic personality, it seemed.

“Cole!” Daniel exclaimed. He looked over at Simon and waved him over. “Simon! Stop chasing butterflies, Cole’s here!”

Simon, who had indeed been chasing butterflies around in the wind, looked up with a smile before running back to the group. He stumbled over a rock, but steadied himself before he could faceplant in the dirt.

“Cole, hi!” Simon said as he skidded to a stop, kicking dirt into North’s face. She sputtered and glared at him, but before she could say something Cole spoke up.

“Uh, who’s the girl?” He asked, staring straight at North. “Oh, is Daniel showing his true colours?”

Markus and Simon snorted. Daniel made an indignant huffing sound, starting to stand up.

“This is North.” Josh told him, kicking Daniel in the shin before he could say something in reply to Cole’s playful jab. “She’s a new…friend, I guess.”

North raised a hand in a lazy half-wave. “’Sup,” she paused before continuing gruffly, “I guess you’re Cole, then? These guys won’t shut up about you, I think they’re all a little bit in love.”

“Am _not!”_ Daniel and Simon muttered, completely synchronised.

Cole giggled, then tugged the wizard accompanying him forwards a bit. “Speaking of new friends, this is Connor! Connor, stop staring at the ground. These guys are my friends, they’re not gonna be mean.” He shot the group a stern glare, as if to make sure that the last statement was true.

Connor jerkily raised his head, wringing his hands together. Wide brown eyes regarded the group fearfully before returning to stare at the ground. Markus heard Daniel’s sharp intake of breath at the other wizard’s familiar—a little _too_ familiar—face.

He was the same kid that Cole had been talking to at the Sorting Ceremony. Conan’s twin. The resemblance was striking. The only difference between the two was the fact that Conan’s pale blue eyes were completely cold and radiated silent anger, yet Connor’s were a deep, soulful brown, and he looked more nervous than evil.

“…h-hello.” Connor mumbled quietly, gaze firmly affixed to the uneven ground. He was shifting on his feet, fiddling with the hem of his robes. Cole slung an arm around his shoulders and shot Daniel a scathing look as the blond wizard opened his mouth.

“You’re that Stern kid’s brother! The twin!” Daniel exclaimed, disregarding Cole’s silent warning completely. “Ugh, he’s such a prat.” He scrunched up his nose and stared at Connor, analysing him. “You’re not a prat, are you?”

Connor flinched, eyes darting to Cole. “I-I, um—”

“Daniel, shut up.” Josh snapped. He stood up and held out his hand as a peace offering. Connor shrank even further away, which made a pang of pity go off in Markus’ chest. The kid looked so _small._ “I’m Josh. Nice to meet you.”

Connor eyed his hand warily before reaching out his own. Even though he was obviously terrified, and highly resembled a deer in the headlights, his movements were clearly calculated, elegant. Probably something to do with being raised by a rich pureblood family.

“The git that can’t hold his tongue is Daniel. His clone is Simon.” Josh pointed at each of his friends as he introduced them. “The girl’s North, and this here is Markus.”

Markus offered a kind smile as Connor turned his frightened gaze on him. “Hey. Sorry about Daniel, he’s just mad that he got detention in Potions class today.”

Connor just blinked at him. Cole grinned and ruffled his new friend’s brown hair before turning to Josh and cocking his head to the side.

“Can we sit?”

“So, uh, Connor?” Markus started, dropping out of Daniel and North’s conversation about why a potions professor like Snape couldn’t even make himself a shampoo that worked, in order to properly get to know their guest. “What’s Ravenclaw like?”

Connor, who had been forlornly staring at the ground, looked up. He hesitated for a moment, the look on his face telling Markus that he was measuring his words. “I-It’s…it’s okay.”

That sounded like a lie. Markus felt another pang of pity for the other wizard. From what his friends had told him about the Sterns, then Connor must have been pretty disappointed, and probably scared, when he was put in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin.

Markus was immediately ten times more thankful that Cole—sweet, outgoing Cole—had been the one to find Connor first, instead of somebody like Reed, or even…or even _Daniel,_ for that matter.

“T-There’s lots of…blue.” Connor muttered, then closed his eyes with a sigh and a wince as he realised how stupid that sounded.

Markus gave a small smile, but he was wincing inwardly at his inability to make Connor feel less…terrified. He wondered if Cole actually had magical powers that immediately made anxious, small people like Connor feel at ease around him.

Cole seemed to sense the tense atmosphere, because he came swooping to the rescue.

“Connor’s really good at spells.” He told Markus with a wide grin. “He was the first kid in out Charms class to make Wingardium Leviosa work, and he knew all about the theory to Transfiguration! He’s, like, super smart!”

Connor ducked his head and mumbled something. Markus tilted his head.

“Wingardium Leviosa?”

“It’s a levitation charm.” Cole informed him, smiling. His eyes lit up, and he turned to Connor with an excited look on his face. “Connor! You should demonstrate your amazing magic skills! Make…uh, make that rock over there float!”

Connor blinked, following Cole’s gaze to a large rock that was position in the middle of their little circle. “I—why?”

“’Cause I know you’re a showoff at heart and I want my friends to be scared of a floating rock coming at their faces.” Cole said. He batted his eyelashes, putting on a fake pout. “Please, Connor?”

Markus hid his smile behind a hand. “I think you should listen to him, Connor.” He said, gesturing at Cole’s excited expression. “Otherwise he’ll probably explode.”

Connor’s mouth twitched into something approximating a smile, but only for a second. It seemed like he wasn’t used to the act of smiling, because it was stiff and resembled a grimace of pain more than an actual grin.

Connor drew his wand out of a pocket in his robes, discreetly holding it at his side. Markus saw the look of mischievous enthusiasm in Cole’s eyes and grinned.

 _“Wingardium Leviosa.”_ Connor whispered, twitching his wand upwards.

The shriek that escaped Daniel’s mouth was something that resembled a baby goat screaming for food. The rock in the centre of their circle drifted into the air, rotating around slightly with the discreet movements of Connor’s hand. Daniel jumped to his feet and scrambled away, shouting gibberish in his momentary panic.

“What _is_ that?” Daniel cried, eyes wide. Simon, Josh, and North all scooted away from the rock warily. “Why’s it flying? What’s going _on?_ Markus?”

The rock flew forwards, and Daniel yelped and stumbled further away as it jolted towards his face. Just as the rock threatened to hit Daniel in his crooked nose, it dropped back to the ground with a heavy _thud._

Markus and Cole both dissolved into maddened giggles. Some of the tension in Connor’s posture dissipated and he gave another twitchy smile.

“Ha!” Cole shouted between laughs, pointing at Daniel. “You should’ve seen the look on your face! Priceless!”

Josh, North, and Simon all began laughing, too. North slapped Daniel on the arm, eyes glittering with mischief.

“You scream like a girl!” North told him, cackling. “Not even _I_ sound like that!”

Simon nodded. “I’m pretty sure you’re not my _brother_ anymore.” He said, grinning and wiping away non-existent tears.

Josh just shook his head in exasperation, though he was smiling. He looked at Cole and Markus. “Which one of you cast the spell?”

Connor held up his wand. Although he still looked nervous, there was a subtle smirk in his eyes as he turned to Daniel and said, “t-thank you for demonstrating your impersonation of a screech owl. It was very educational.”

Daniel stared at him, indignant. He jabbed a finger in Connor’s direction and threw his gaze around to the others, disbelieving. “Are you seeing this? He—he did that—what?”

Markus snorted. “Eloquent as ever, Dan.”

“I don’t sound like a screech owl!” Daniel cried. “That’s not—I didn’t _scream!”_

“Yeah, you did.” North said, smirking. “You screamed real good.”

“And you _totally_ sounded like an owl.” Simon told him, eyes glittering.

Daniel whirled around to look at Josh. “You’re the most sensible person here. Tell them I didn’t scream, Josh!”

Josh seemed to ponder this for a second. “You didn’t scream.”

Daniel nodded empathetically and glared at Simon. “See? Josh is smart, he knows I didn’t—”

“You _shrieked._ ” Josh cut him off, smiling. He ignored Daniel’s indignant sputtering and turned to look at Connor. “That was a really good spell! How did you manage to perform it so quietly?”

“I-I guess I’m just…lucky?” Connor said, slipping his wand back into his pocket. He definitely didn’t look as out of place anymore, and Markus was grateful that Cole was able to bring peace to their little ragtag group.

Cole snorted. “He’s just being modest. Connor’s _awesome_ at spellcasting, and we’ve only had two of our classes so far!”

“I should hope so.” A familiar, cold voice interrupted.

Everybody turned around only to see Conan Stern himself standing a little ways off, his gang of Slytherins at his side. Markus saw Connor stiffen, staring adamantly at the ground.

The other Stern regarded the group in the same way somebody would look at a mosquito, the same uninterested gaze, the same distasteful look in his eyes. Once again, Markus was struck with the unwavering contrast between Conan and Connor, the differences even in their posture and tone of voice.

“Connor, brother,” Conan faced his twin, and the expression on his face shifted to something warmer, something affectionate. “I was looking for you. We have a lot of things to discuss, after what happened last night.”

Markus didn’t miss the fleeting look of sheer terror that took over Connor’s features for a moment, didn’t miss the way that the other wizard seemed to brute-force his expression back into something neutral afterwards.

“Hey, get out of here and leave him alone.” Daniel snapped at him, probably noticing Connor’s obvious discomfort. “Nobody here wants you Death Eater scum hanging around.”

Conan barked a laugh, eyes glinting malevolently. “The half-breed still believes in Death Eaters. How _adorable_.”

Markus stepped in before Daniel could make the situation any worse, standing up to face Conan. He forced himself not to shrink away from the other wizard’s cold glare. “Leave it, both of you.” To Conan, he said, “what do you want, Stern?”

“I need to speak with Connor here,” Conan stared him down, gaze hard. “I’d thank you for taking care of my dear brother, but I don’t associate with traitors and mudbloods.” He ignored North’s scoff and Daniel’s angry muttering.

He held out his hand and helped Connor to his feet. The brown-eyed Stern’s expression had become guarded, numb looking. He didn’t even say goodbye as Conan led him away, the other Slytherins following closely behind.

Daniel glared at Conan as he left. “What a self-absorbed prat.”

North grimaced, eyes dark. “I’d like to punch that perfect nose of his.”

Simon, to Markus’ surprise, nodded. “Look at him, dragging Connor along like he’s nothing.”

“Guys, leave it.” Josh sighed. “They’re brothers, and it’s obvious that they’re close. Connor’s allowed to talk to his twin if he wants to.”

Cole bobbed his head in agreement, then leapt to change the subject. Markus noticed him shoot one last glance after the retreating twins before asking, “so, what classes did you guys have?”

Charms class came and went, with Josh being the first of the group to master Wingardium Leviosa—which was exactly what Markus had expected. He himself found it harder to cast, although he still figured it out before North and Simon, and just after Daniel. It was his first spell, which was exciting, but also very hard to believe.

Nobody was surprised when Daniel had floated his feather over to tickle one of the Slytherin girls who was sitting on the other side of the room, and nobody was surprised when the same Slytherin girl yelled at him and he got in trouble again. Thankfully, no more detentions were given out, and no more points were taken, which only made Daniel more cocky about his troublemaking abilities.

After Charms was Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was what Simon and North were both looking forward to. When Markus asked what the subject even was, they just told him it was the most important, most interesting one at Hogwarts.

As soon as they stepped through the door, Professor Travis greeted them with a smile.

“Welcome, children!” He said, arms outstretched. He stood in front of a large chalkboard, surrounded by various cages and glass display cases.

The room itself was dimly lit and messy, the desks already set with parchment and quills for each student. The shelves lining the stone walls were filled with ancient looking books and little jars and bottles of specimens. Simon scrambled to the front of the room and sat heavily in his chair, North at his heels. Markus, Daniel, and Josh followed more sedately, each choosing a seat next to each other.

Once the whole class had trickled into the classroom, Professor Travis clasped his hands in front of him and smiled.

“In this class, you will learn to identify dark creatures and spells, and you will learn to defend yourself against curses and jinxes of all kinds. This class is truly crucial to your survival and wellbeing as a wizard in this day and age.” The professor’s voice was solemn. “At the end of this lesson, I hope to have enlightened you about the dangers of the magic world and ways to protect yourself and those you hold dear.”

A Slytherin girl raised her hand.

“Will we be learning about Wrackspurts, too?” She inquired innocently. Her friends snickered behind their hands, echoing throughout the dim, dusty room.

“What’s a Wrackspurt?” Markus asked Josh in a hushed whisper.

Josh rolled his eyes. “They don’t exist. They’re little invisible creatures that crazy people believe in.”

“Oh.”

Professor Travis’ eyes narrowed, and he started a tangent about the importance of acknowledging that nothing could ever be proved to not actually exist, that it was just a matter of belief, really. Markus tuned it out as soon as he started, not understanding a word that was coming out of his mouth. There was something about the professor that unnerved him, something in his dark stare that made the hairs on Markus’ neck stand up.

He was crazy, maybe. Eccentric, definitely. He seemed harmless enough, despite his sharp-looking face and unruly appearance. There wasn’t really anything about the professor that screamed _danger,_ but there was certainly an air of strangeness that cloaked him, something that sent unease rippling through Markus’ body.

He shook his head. It was probably nothing.

The class went on to be pretty interesting, despite the rocky start. By the time the class was nearing its end, Markus’ parchment was covered in scrawled notes about the properties of unicorn blood and why vampires feared garlic. He wasn’t yet used to writing with a quill, which meant that his usually neat cursive was slanted and smudged all over the yellowing papyrus. It looked like something Carl had written, as he was slowly losing control of his hands as he aged and his condition worsened. Markus could recall his muggle teachers always being suspicious of forged notes because his father’s handwriting was so terrible that they thought Markus had faked an excuse note.

Markus had always been offended on his father’s behalf, but he knew Carl thought it was hilarious.

“Isn’t this class supposed to be cursed?” North whispered to Markus, bringing him out of his fond memories. She was chewing on the tip of her wand, which probably wasn’t good for its magical powers.

“Is it?” Markus didn’t recall hearing about any curse, but then again, he probably missed it in all of his excitement over the past day and a half.

North shrugged. ‘That’s what they say. No Defence professor ever lasts for more than a year. They all either quit, get sick, die, or just straight up disappear. Like, _poof_.” She made the universal gesture for disappearing; a miniature, slow-motion explosion with her hands. “Cursed as hell.”

“That’s kind of weird.” Markus admitted. “Maybe not curse-worthy, but hey, if you wanna talk conspiracy theories, we’ve got a Daniel.”

North snorted, shaking her head. She shoved Markus’ shoulder lightly. “Ew. No way am I discussing conspiracies with _him_.”

“While we’re on the topic,” Markus said, “can you help me with this work? I don’t understand a thing Professor Travis is saying.”

North rolled her eyes. “Sure, I’ll help you be smart. It’s my greatest talent, you know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Daniel were real, he'd probably be pissed that I made him the joke of the group, and I'm here for it.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! It means so, so much to me <3


	11. Together, We Are One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some insight into what the twins are /really/ like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. SO. I've decided to make the chapters a little shorter, so hopefully I won't be as stressed out and I can push them out more quickly. I'm sorry if this seems too short, but I really didn't want to make it any longer because it was very difficult to try and do. 
> 
> I made some edits to the previous chapter, too, so if you need to go back and check that's okay.

The second that Conan showed up, two things happened simultaneously.

First, Connor’s blood turned to ice, shattered, and left his body.

Second, everybody else’s expression changed to that of somebody who had just found a dead bird in their pillow.

Connor saw Daniel’s green-blue eyes light up with malice, saw Markus stiffen, saw North sneer. He was reminded that he was an enemy here, that nobody wanted a pureblood amongst them. He was reminded that he failed to get into Slytherin, and so he was cursed. He was reminded that although Cole was nice to him, although he was no longer as afraid of the other wizard, nobody would _ever_ equate to Conan.

“I’d thank you for taking care of my brother, but I don’t associate with traitors and mudbloods.”

Connor’s heart sank even further. It felt like Conan was scolding him for being with these people. It felt like he was reminding Connor that he was a failure. It felt like he was being disowned.

“Come on, Connor.”

He wasn’t aware that he had taken Conan’s hand and let himself be led away, but all of a sudden they were in the castle, Conan’s icy blue eyes piercing through him and unravelling every secret, every blasphemous thought that Connor had thought over the past twenty-four hours.

They walked down a hallway, Conan holding Connor’s arm to keep him close. Gavin and two other Slytherins followed, which only made Connor more nervous. He couldn’t help but worry that there was going to be a punishment inflicted on him for his betrayal of their trust.

“Reed, Warren, Chen,” Conan started, giving his new friends a hard look, “would you leave my brother and I to have a little chat?”

The others, Conan’s new pureblood friends, left them to have a private conversation. Gavin gave Connor a glare that made him feel as though he was shrinking in on himself until he imploded and ceased to exist. The two girls, Christina Warren and Tina Chen, shot him a distrustful look before following Gavin out of the corridor.

That left Connor alone to face his brother’s wrath.

He needed to apologise, to explain, to beg Conan not to reject him.

“C-Conan, I’m sorry—I didn’t know what they were, and I thought—I thought it would be okay if I wasn’t friends with them, but then they made me feel happy and I know it’s a sin and I know I’m a sinner and I don’t want you to hate me please don’t hate me please don’t tell Amanda don’t tell Amanda she’ll be angry and I don’t—”

Connor broke off as Conan pulled him into a hug. Connor gasped in surprise, then buried his face in his twin’s shoulder, letting some of his tension dissipate.

“Shhh, brother.” Conan said quietly. “Don’t waste your breath apologising. I understand.”

“Y-You…what?”

Conan put his hands on Connor’s shoulders and pushed him back slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes were warm, but serious. “You need to survive, and in order to do that you must integrate into a group of people who will keep you safe. If I were there, those people would not be a problem, but we were so horrendously separated last night, and so you must adapt.”

This was…strange. Connor had been sure that Conan would have been mad at him for failing. He’d been sure that he was going to be disowned and sent away to some correctional facility for malfunctioning purebloods.

Connor stared at him. “B-But, they’re mudbloods. Traitors and halfbreeds, and Amanda told us—”

“One of them is from a family that opposes us, is he not?” Conan cut in. There was a glint in his eyes. “You have stumbled across a wonderful opportunity, dear brother. There’s information you can gather from the Anderson boy, if you continue to pretend to be his companion.”

_Oh._

“Besides, I know you’re smart enough not to become blinded by these traitors and their goals. You and I were raised under the same rules, of course. If integrating into that pitiful group is going to get us information and simultaneously keep you safe from harm, then I’m not going to stop you.”

**_Oh._ **

Connor breathed a sigh of relief. “A-Are you sure? You’re not…mad at me?”

Conan shook his head. “Of course not. You cannot help what the Sorting Hat said, even if it was wrong. It may have failed to place you in the house where you _truly_ belong, but I know you’re still one of us. There’s nothing to be angry about.”

His eyes brightened by a degree, and he gave a small smile. “Your spell was quite impressive, by the way. I remember when we were children, you could barely lift a feather with Amanda’s wand.”

His tone was light, teasing. It told Connor that there really was nothing to worry about, that everything was okay and Conan was true to his word; he still cared. Back to normality, then.

Connor blinked, then gently shoved his twin’s shoulder, prior unease forgotten. “You couldn’t even cast _Lumos_ at the age of seven, Conan.”

“You were convinced that the dead Bowtruckle on my nightstand was going to come to life and kill you while you slept,” Conan said, slinging an arm over Connor’s shoulders. “Always so afraid, Connor. It’s a wonder you could ever sleep at all.”

That was a thought that Connor had wondered about several times already.

He leaned into his brother’s warmth. “It stormed last night,” he murmured. “You weren’t there to protect me. I felt empty."

Conan nodded, “I know. I was worried about you. That god-forsaken hat took you away from me, and I couldn’t feel your presence anywhere.” His eyes flashed with determination, jaw set. “I will _not_ let anything get between us ever again, I promise.”

The difference between Conan and Cole was the fact that Conan could make Connor feel better instantly. The familiarity of his twin’s warmth at his side, paired with their ability to read each other’s emotions easily, it made Conan better at understanding Connor than anybody else. Connor knew Cole had been trying, knew he wanted to be his friend, but it wasn’t the same. Conan radiated warmth and a sense of _home_ , where Cole made Connor suspicious and afraid. It was difficult to feel at-ease around the halfbreed, even now that it seemed Connor was accidentally growing closer to him. They were almost friends, at that point, and it was slightly reassuring to know that it was easier than he’d thought to make people like him.

Still, it just wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

“I’m still sorry that things ended up this way,” Conan said. “Reed and the others are useless compared to you. They follow me mindlessly, of course, and their intellect and skill is far lower than yours. Barely worth the conversation, really.”

Connor gave a quiet hum of affirmation. “Gavin doesn’t like me,” he said. His voice betrayed no emotion, it was simply an observation.

“Reed doesn’t like you because you are smarter than him and I care for you more,” Conan told him, voice firm. “He is jealous, envious of your status by my side. Although he has taken up residence as my second-in-command, he is nowhere near a replacement for you, and he knows it.”

Connor felt a twinge of self-satisfaction at knowing the mean, crooked-nosed wizard was envious of him. “Good. Make him grovel for his place at your side.”

Conan smiled. “Oh, I have.” He then cocked his head to the side, eyes glinting with surprise. “I haven’t heard you say such a thing since that Daphne girl claimed to be… _dating_ me.”

Connor sighed heavily. “I disliked her. She believed she was superior to me.”

“She also believed me to be her boyfriend.” Conan said, rolling his eyes. “Both far-fetched delusions, with a face like an ox and an IQ of ten.”

Connor hadn’t realised, in the months leading up to their enrolment in Hogwarts, how much he’d missed this. He had, admittedly, been too nervous for the past few months to properly enjoy his brother’s company. Not to mention that Amanda had had too many visitors, too many events for them to attend, so he and his brother hadn’t had the time to banter with each other in such a way. They would have usually been sitting in the old oak tree in the woods outside their house, talking and practicing incantations together, if it weren’t for their schedule and Connor’s fear.

He could remember countless times, before their training started, when Amanda would take them out gathering potion ingredients in the woods and they would be allowed to explore together. He could remember sunny days and chasing leaves in the wind until his legs gave out. The first five years of their lives had been filled with such brightness and happiness, and then—

“Do you remember when Daphne _accidentally_ smashed Amanda’s favourite painting while she was away?” Conan asked with a light chuckle. “I’m fairly sure Amanda knew it was actually us, but I also know she hated Daphne as much as we did, so she let us go without punishment.”

“I do miss our jokes.” Connor said wistfully. He glanced sideways at his brother, “why did we stop?”

“I suppose our training got in the way.” Conan mused. “Amanda made sure we didn’t have much time for our old antics, with all the studying she had us do.”

Connor nodded. “I guess that makes sense. There’s no room for joking and rudeness in our personalities anymore.”

“We have to be perfect.” Conan said. He shook his head. “I prefer it this way, though. We know what we are and what we are not, nothing is left up to chance anymore.”

Connor flinched, against his better judgment. His brother sounded so certain, so sure of himself, and it made all of Connor’s prior worries return. He knew he wasn’t as good as Conan—that was a fact he was used to—but he also knew that even if Conan reassured him that landing himself in Ravenclaw wasn’t the end of the world, it really seemed like it. He knew that there was no way he could do what he needed to do if he was stuck in Ravenclaw like a caged bird, because Amanda wouldn’t allow him to continue. She would shake her head sadly, disappointment in her dark gaze, and tell him he’d failed his mission already, when he didn’t even need to do anything.

“The uncertainty isn’t gone.” Connor said quietly. “It’s just evolved into something worse.”

Conan blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I’m…I’m _scared,_ Conan.” Connor forced out, breaking the light mood of their conversation. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now, because I’m stranded in Ravenclaw with a group of mudbloods and halfbreeds trying to be my friends. I kept thinking, last night, that I’m a failure, that Amanda is going to kill me. And I know it’s not true but I can’t help but wonder if I was never good enough, and it hurts, brother, it _hurts._ I’m sick of being afraid, but every time somebody tries to talk to me I freeze up and become just as useless as I think I am.”

He shook his head. “And I keep thinking that it’s unfair. Unfair because you got into Slytherin, and you can do what Amanda wants, make her proud like you’re supposed to, but I’m just…stuck. Stuck in a land of blue and fear and wishing you were next to me even though it’s selfish. I just…I just want things to go the way they’re supposed to. We’re not trained to deal with unpredictability like this, and I have no idea what to do—”

Conan pulled him closer, arm secure around his shoulders. “I understand that you’re worried about what Amanda will do. I am, too. I want you by my side when I’m working for the Dark Lord, which means she cannot find out about this development.”

“How are we supposed to hide it?” Connor asked, desperate. “The headmaster has probably already sent out letters to parents about what houses their children got into. There’s no way we can stop her from finding out.”

Conan shook his head. “Such a pessimist, Connor.” He leaned closer, a determined glint in his gaze. Connor recognised the look as the same expression he used to wear when they were younger, whenever Conan had a devious plan.

“I know for a fact that the letters won’t be sent until next week,” Conan told him, voice hushed. “I stayed up late last night formulating a plan, but now that you have shared your worries it’s only fair for you to join me.”

“Join you for what?”

Conan smiled, malevolence glittering in his eyes. “In four days, after curfew, I’m going to sneak into the storage room of the Owlery, where the letters are being stored. We’ll find the one about you and destroy it, and Amanda will never know you’re in Ravenclaw.”

Connor stared at him. “Y-You can’t be serious. We’ll be caught!”

“No, we won’t.” Conan said firmly. “Gavin’s going to sacrifice himself as a distraction, if needed. There’s no way I’m letting Amanda pull you out of our plan just because of some stupid mistake, and if that means breaking a couple rules, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you so much,” Connor breathed as he threw his arms around Conan’s shoulders and crushed him in a fierce hug, “for not giving up on me.”

Conan linked his hands together behind Connor’s back. “I will _never_ give up on you, brother.”

They parted reluctantly as the bell for the next class sounded. Conan told Connor to meet him at the Owlery just before curfew in four days time, and Connor told him he’d be there.

He was hurrying back to Cole when he bumped into a hazily-familiar face.

“S-Sorry.” Connor mumbled, attempting to sidestep the stranger when they grabbed him forcefully by the arm and tugged him backwards as he tried to struggle away.

“Look at me, you slimy twat.”

Connor’s heart sank. It was Cole’s older brother. Harry? Henry? Something starting with a ‘h’. It wasn’t really important, as he was currently trying not to die of a heart-attack under the older wizard’s furious blue gaze.

He didn’t look anything like Cole. Cole looked cheerful and harmless, somewhat naïve. His brother looked angry and mean, and he had the face of a centaur and the stature of a half-giant. Connor had to crane his neck to look at him, and even then he was afraid to look into his eyes, the eyes that held a fiery, unbridled rage.

“You remember me?” Cole’s brother— _Hank_ , his name was—spat. “I’m Cole’s brother.”

Connor wasn’t really sure if it was a question or not, but he decided to answer anyway. “Y-Yes?”

He froze, barely breathing, as the older wizard’s anger seemed to deepen. His arm started to ache dully under Hank’s hand, which grasped him with more strength than Connor had expected. His breathing started to pick up, hands trembling slightly.

“Yeah, I’m your buddy’s older brother.” Hank said, voice low and dangerous. “And I saw you sneaking around with _your_ brother just now. The one who actively participates in protests against my family.”

Oh. It was going to be about _that._

Connor flinched away, trying uselessly to pry his arm out of Hank’s iron-clad grip. “P-Please, I just—I just need to get to class.”

Hank sneered. “You look all innocent now, but I know you’re waiting for the right chance to stab my baby brother in the back and leave him bleeding. Markus, too. He’s a good, _muggleborn_ kid. Only found out he was a wizard a week ago. Seems like the kind of guy you’d just love to screw over.”

“I-I don’t know what you—what you’re t-talking about.” Connor lied. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the sharp ache in his arm and the heat radiating from Hank’s gaze. “Please l-let me go.”

“I will, once you promise to leave my brother alone.” Hank said darkly. “I know what kind of person you are, Stern. I know exactly what purebloods like you do to people like Cole. Last night, I was willing to give you a chance, but now that I see you talking to your tosser of a twin, you’re not getting off so easy.”

Connor forced himself to meet his gaze, feeling himself shaking slightly. “C-Cole’s my _f-friend.”_ He said, trying to act brave in the face of adversity. It didn’t work.

“No, he’s your _asset.”_ Hank snapped. “You’re gonna use him and throw him away. He’s been hurt by snakes like you before, y’know? Loads of people take advantage of him ‘cause he’s a goddamn good person. You’re one of those people, I can see it now.”

Connor stayed silent, not able to look Hank in the eye again.

From down the hall, somebody called, “Hank! Leave the goddamn snake, we’ve got class!”

Hank huffed angrily and raised the hand holding Connor’s arm in a threatening manner. “Take my advice, Stern, and leave Cole the hell alone. It’ll be better for both of you. Cole won’t be hurt again, and your arm will remain _un_ broken.”

Connor swallowed the lump in his throat and forced an unsteady nod. “N-Noted.”

Hank released his arm in a jerky motion before flipping him off and stomping away to where his friends were waiting at the end of the corridor. Connor stayed still, paralysed, as the older wizards retreated, their laughter filling his ears and shaking him to his core, turning his blood to icy silt in his veins.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when Cole’s voice carried down the hallway.

“Connor? Are you coming to class?”

He forced himself to turn around and face the bright-eyed Ravenclaw that was waiting for him.

Hank’s threat rang in his ears as he gave a false smile and made his way over to where Cole was waiting. He tried not to focus on the fact that what Hank said was true. That he was just using Cole for information and protection. He tried to force the guilt into the back of his mind.

“I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this length chapter much more. I'm gonna just write what comes naturally and ignore word limits and bullshit like that, thanks to some advice from the lovely Anxrali! I really needed to hear that, so thank you <3
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!


	12. Flying Lessons / Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus defeats a bully. Connor struggles to feel normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This kind of late. School hit me like a truck, and then I had a few medical issues I needed to deal with. But I'm here now, and I'm okay! I've decided that I'm gonna format the chapters differently to before, with half and half of different perspectives. That means you'll get longer chapters and I'll be able to write without feeling like trash! yay!

The next few days passed like a blur. Markus mastered the Wingardium Leviosa incantation, demonstrating it in front of his whole charms class at the end of their second lesson. Simon was still better than him, and so was Josh, but it was probably because they were both so much more graceful; Markus was more clumsy in his movements and still couldn’t seem to properly hold his wand, to Professor Flitwick’s disappointment. They then moved on to practicing _Lumos,_ the light spell. Transfiguration proved to be increasingly difficult, Defence Against the Dark Arts grew more and more baffling, History of Magic proved itself to be the most dull subject in existence, and Snape continued to give Daniel detention at every chance he got. The last fact ended up extending the other wizard’s nighttime detentions for yet another week, much to Daniel’s dismay and indignation.

The next morning, Markus woke up with excitement fizzling through his body, mind buzzing and restless. He leapt out of bed and ran across the room to shake Simon’s shoulders, causing the other wizard to jerk awake.

“M-Markus…? Where’s the fire?” Simon asked with a grunt, clumsily slapping Markus’ hand away. His eyes slowly opened and he sat up, rubbing groggily at his face. His hair was hilariously mussed, expression disgruntled as he woke up.

“We’ve got flying lessons today!” Markus cried, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “ _Flying,_ Simon!”

He’d checked their timetable for the week before he went to sleep. Seeing the words ‘broomstick’ and ‘lessons’ next to each other had filled him with a fiery excitement that chased him into his dreams in the form of brooms and witches with their black cats, and also a rough idea of what Quidditch looked like. Now that he was awake, he was bouncing and fidgeting restlessly, impatient.

“Oh, yeah.” Simon muttered, yawning behind his hand. “Does that really warrant shaking me to death at—” he checked the clock on their wall, “—six-thirty in the morning?”

Markus winced. “Sorry. I was just excited.”

Simon shook his head with a sleepy smile and waved his apology off. “I get it, it’s fine. Just…not much of a morning person, is all.”

“Neither am I.” Josh muttered from his bed, groaning as he sat up. He glared at Markus blearily. “Merlin, you can’t just wait, like, twenty minutes?”

“Nope!” Markus grinned, “we’re having flying lessons today, I can’t wait at all!”

A heavy sigh from Josh was his reply, paired with the dark-skinned wizard pointedly turning away with an irritated huff.

“You’re really not excited?” Markus asked, flabbergasted. “I could barely sleep last night thinking about it!”

“I come from a completely magical family,” Josh pointed out grumpily, flapping a hand in the air. “My sisters and I used to fly on our training brooms with our mum all the time. It’s nothing new for me. Besides, it’s not even that fun, really.”

Markus gasped, clutching his chest. “ _Not fun?_ ” He cried, whirling around to stare at Josh directly. “How can flying—in the actual _air_ —on magical broomsticks possibly not be fun?”

“Heights freak me out, that’s how,” Josh grumbled, flipping onto his side to face away from Markus. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just gonna go back to sleep and pretend you never woke me up in the first place.”

The room was silent for a moment, the only sound being the soft snoring emanating from Daniel’s bed as he slept and the slow breathing of Josh as he _attempted_ to sleep. Light filtered through the curtains, illuminating dust particles that danced through the air like tiny specks of stardust. This part of the morning had always been Markus’ favourite, the time of day when the sun was bright orange and it casted a cosy, warm feeling over the planet. The curtains swayed slightly as a draft drifted through the partially-opened window in the corner of their room, a soft swishing sound occasionally accompanying the sounds of sleep and birdsong.

Markus could remember watching the sun rise with Carl, right before the disease took his father’s legs away. He remembered sitting atop a grassy hill as morning broke, like an explosion of light and warmth bathing the lands as it chased away the loneliness and darkness of night. Carl would comment on the ways that the light moved, the different colours and the different magical creatures that he imagined dancing through the land. Markus would listen to him, enraptured, while he stretched out in the grass and let the orange light wash over him as the sky shifted through its cycle of wondrous colours.

He turned back to Simon, who seemed to have woken up a bit more. The other wizard was running his hands through his hair and straightening out his sleep-shirt in an attempt to make himself look presentable. It wasn’t working all that well, but Markus wasn’t about to tell him that and ruin his morning any further.

“You ever ridden on a broom before?” Markus inquired curiously, softening his voice as to not upset Josh.

Simon shook his head, visibly stifling a yawn. “Nope. Danny has, though. He used to go out with dad to visit some of our friends’ kids and play Quidditch with them for fun.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Markus asked.

Simon shrugged, “I’m not really a sporty person, I guess. It also seems really dangerous, and I didn’t want to get hurt by falling out of the sky or anything.”

“That, and dad thinks he’s gay.” Daniel’s sleepy voice added. Markus glanced over to Simon’s twin, who had apparently woken up, and was now watching them talk with bleary blue eyes.

Simon blew out an angry breath of air and crossed his arms, “I told you, that’s not true!” He snapped at his brother, who just shrugged and turned his gaze to Markus.

“I’m tellin’ you, mate, our dad says Simon’s a huge pouf.” Daniel chuckled, rolling onto his back to stare at the roof.

Markus had met a couple of gay people in his lifetime, as one of Carl’s closest friends had a boyfriend of his own, which meant he knew what it was. He didn’t understand it, sure, but he was sure that there was nothing wrong with being that way. Still, he knew that some people were strangely uncomfortable, even outwardly hostile, with the concept. He hated bullies, especially the kind that picked on anybody even remotely different. He remembered being picked on in muggle school for having two different colour eyes, and for having dark skin compared to the rest of his class. It was stupid, and unfair, and he would try his best to prevent it happening to anybody else.

Markus blinked, “does it really matter?”

“No!” Simon said, still glaring at Daniel. “But Dan thinks it’s hilarious, even though it’s not true.”

“Nah, I know it’s not true.” Daniel said, waving him off. “I just like to make you squirm like that. It’s hilarious ‘cause you kind of just stutter angrily and lecture me about all the reasons I’m wrong,” he winked conspiratorially at Markus, “seems like somebody’s a bit self-conscious, huh?”

Sensing Simon’s obvious discomfort, Markus sighed, “I still don’t see why this matters.”

“It doesn’t,” Daniel assured him, “I don’t really care if Simon’s into that kind of stuff or anything, it’s not like—”

“End of conversation!” Simon cut in loudly, slamming a hand down on his mattress. “No more discussing whether or not I’m gay!”

Markus winced, realising he’d been rude. “Sorry.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, but apologised alongside him. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Does _nobody_ know what common decency is?” Josh groaned from his side of the room. Markus turned to look at him, and was met with the other wizard now sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes and glaring at the three of them blearily. “You’re all so _loud_.”

Simon sighed heavily and slipped out of his bed, “it’s not my fault these two are annoying.”

“It’s not my fault I was excited about flying!” Markus said, affronted. “Daniel’s the one who had to pipe up about all that…other stuff.”

“Hmm, true,” Simon huffed out another breath, giving Daniel a distasteful look, “so I guess he’s the only one at fault here. That means I’m not talking to him for the rest of the day.”

Daniel’s eyes widened in indignation, “what? You can’t just pin the blame on me, Si! I’m not the one who woke you up in the first place, that was Markus!”

If he wanted a response, he was going to be disappointed. Simon simply sauntered over to his chest and opened it, looking for his robes for the day with his teeth working at his lower lip. He pointedly kept his back to Daniel as he scooped up his clothes, flounced across the room to the door, and headed out to get changed in the bathroom. Daniel glared after him with an angry blue gaze, arms crossed and jaw twitching in agitation.

“Relax, mate,” Markus said with a laugh, “it’s not that big of a deal. As long as you don’t do anything to piss him off any more, he’ll be talking to you by tomorrow morning.”

Daniel just shook his head before waltzing over to his own stuff and grabbing his robes, bundling them unceremoniously in his arms as he left the room.

That just left Josh and Markus alone.

“Ugh, he’s so dramatic,” Josh muttered, rolling his eyes. He gave Markus an exasperated glance, “I guess there’s no chance at me getting any more sleep, then, huh?”

“Guess not. I’m sorry for waking you up so early.”

Josh waved him off, “it’s fine. No time like the present, really.” He slowly got out of bed and smoothed down the front of his pyjamas before taking his own robes in his hands. “I’m gonna go get changed and meet those two idiots out in the common room. Hopefully North’ll be able to talk some sense into them, huh?”

“Hopefully.”

Madame Hooch was a—for lack of a better term— _flamboyant_ woman. Short white-blond hair sat up in spikes atop her head, while her yellow cat’s-eyes glinted mischievously in the afternoon light. Around her neck hung a normal looking whistle, and in her right hand she gripped a sleek, black broomstick. She greeted Markus’ class with an expression that was attempting to be stern, but her light-hearted personality shone through.

She led the class to the flying grounds, a large expanse of green, grassy field just outside the castle. There were no trees, probably so clumsy first-years flying for the first time wouldn’t crash and break every bone in their bodies.

Markus bounced with every step he took, impatiently waiting for his friends to catch up. Josh was lagging behind the most, dragging his feet morosely. He obviously wasn’t excited, unlike North, who was at Markus’ side and looked almost as eager as he did himself. Her reddish-brown hair was braided over her shoulder, deep brown eyes glittering with enthusiasm as she watched Madame Hooch with what could only be described as reverence in her gaze.

“I’m gonna be the best Quidditch player in the history of magic.” North told Markus as their class caught up and gathered by one of the castle walls, facing their new flying instructor. “Everyone will either want to be me, or date me.”

“You like Quidditch?” Markus asked, surprised. North nodded empathetically, hair bobbing with the action.

“Of course! It’s the best!” She gestured at Madame Hooch. “Hooch actually used to play for one of the most famous Quidditch teams. She was an absolute _beast_ in the field, but she retired so she could teach here after the last instructor got killed in a freak lightning accident. He was, like, completely fried.”

“That’s…morbid.”

North scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s stupidity, is what it is. Everybody knows to take precautions when there’s an electrical storm.”

Markus gave her a look, “he _died,_ North. Show a little respect.”

“I’ll respect people when they give me a valid reason to,” she told him, crossing her arms. “Besides, it was ages ago now. It’s okay not to care.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, it _should_ be. My granny died seven years ago, and does it look like I’m still missing her?”

Markus sighed, “Merlin, you’re dark.” He shook his head, then hastily changed the subject. “I think we should have a competition, then, if you’re so good at Quidditch.”

North’s eyes lit up. “Like what?”

“We should both try out for Quidditch next year, and the person who ends up with the most points over the year wins.” Markus told her, “and then we’ll see who’s _actually_ the best Quidditch player in the world.”

North smirked. “Sure, buddy. Out of the two of us, who’s had more practice?”

Markus rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’ll beat you, fair and square.”

Madame Hooch was herding the class into two lines, facing one another. Markus was stuck facing off with one of Stern’s friends, Gavin Reed. The bully.

They stood, still and silent, as their instructor handed each one of them a brown broomstick.

“Today, you will be taught how to properly care for, summon, and mount your regulation broomstick,” Madame Hooch told the class. “You will not lift more than three feet off the ground until you have been properly trained and passed your safety test. Quidditch tryouts are for second years and above _only,_ which means that up until the end of this year, flying classes will be mandatory. Are there any questions?”

A Slytherin boy raised his hand.

“Will we be learning Quidditch as a class?”

“Briefly, I will be going through the rules and regulations regarding the game, but if you’re really desperate to play, you will have to wait until your second year.” Madame Hooch smiled. “I’m glad there seems to be a few future Quidditch players here. It really is a wonderful sport. Anybody else?”

Lucy, a small Gryffindor girl, raised her hand.

“Is it okay to fly with glasses on?” She asked, pale eyes wide. “I can’t see without them.”

Madame Hooch smiled gently at her. “Of course. Just make sure they don’t fall off while you’re in the air.”

Markus couldn’t help but notice Gavin Reed and another Slytherin kid snickering at the exchange. He glared at them, and was met with twin sneers.

Hooch clasped her hands together enthusiastically. “Now, then! I have placed a broom on the ground beside each of you, which will be your allocated broom for the rest of the year. On my count, I want you to place your right hand in the air over your broom, palm facing down, and say ‘ _up!’_ as forcefully as you can.”

Markus glanced sideways at Simon, giving him an incredulous look. Simon just shrugged and followed Hooch’s instructions, holding out his hand and giving his broomstick a look so stern it was a wonder it didn’t disintegrate.

“Up!” Simon said, voice firm. At his feet, the broom rattled slightly but didn’t move.

Markus snorted. “You’re the greatest wizard alive, Si.”

He was met with a half-hearted glare. “I’d like to see you do any better.”

“I’ll do it on the first try, just you watch.” Markus held out his own hand, palm facing the ground. He stared down at the broom laying at his feet intensely, feeling magic spark through his fingertips.

“Up!”

The broom jolted off the ground for a second before falling back with a light thud.

Simon laughed. “See? It’s not easy.”

“Shut up.”

“Up!”

A fellow Gryffindor boy, who Markus recognised as being named Arthur, attempted to Wingardium Leviosa his broom into his hand. He was flung two metres into the air, landing on his backside with a quiet _‘oomph’._

“Up!”

“ _Up!”_

Simultaneously, North and Markus’ brooms flew into their hands. Markus flexed his fingers around the sturdy wood experimentally and shot North a grin.

“Looks like a tie so far, then.”

North rolled her eyes. “We haven’t even gotten in the air yet, mate.”

Next to her, Josh was struggling to get even the slightest reaction from his own broom. Daniel was already holding his, examining it with a disapproving look in his eyes.

Simon gave an accomplished little _‘aha’_ as his broom flew swiftly and neatly into his outstretched hand. He smiled to himself, blue eyes wide in pleasant surprise. Everybody else was gradually managing to get their brooms into their hands, and Madame Hooch looked pleased with their progress.

Once every broom was held in a wizard’s hand, Hooch continued with the lesson.

“I want you all to mount your brooms, now.” Hooch told them. “Try not to let yourself lift off the ground until I give the all-clear, if you can help it.”

Markus wrapped his hands around the end of his broom and lifted a leg to seat himself in the middle, which had a slight divot that helped it be less uncomfortable. He felt the broom attempt to lift into the air, but he held his ground, feet planted firmly on the ground. It wasn’t as hard as he’d first thought it would be, but it was certainly different.

North smirked at him. “Not struggling yet?”

“Why would I be?”

“Look at Josh, Markus.” North snickered, pointing to the other wizard.

Josh’s feet kept awkwardly shuffling through the grass as he attempted to stay firmly on the ground. His knuckles were pale where his hands clutched the broom, teeth working over his lower lip in concentration. He looked…terrified. Markus remembered him mentioning his fear of heights, and immediately felt sorry for him.

A commotion on the other side of the line distracted him. Lucy, the girl with patches of pale skin on her otherwise chocolate-brown complexion and milky-white eyes that betrayed her near-blindness, had started to lift off the ground. Her legs flailed beneath her as she struggled to keep the broom from taking her away, but her efforts seemed fruitless. A few of the other wizards were reaching up to help her, including a blond Slytherin girl, but most of them were quietly watching or laughing.

Madame Hooch rushed over to help Lucy down, but she was already too far off the ground.

“Miss Penrose!” Hooch called, and edge of panic to her voice. “Come down!”

“I’m _trying_!” Lucy cried as her broom jolted sideways, towards the closest castle wall. Markus watched, helpless, as she was thrown from side to side, watched her cling to the broom in terror as her glasses slipped off her face and fell to the ground.

Some of the other students started to panic. Lucy’s friends from Gryffindor and the same blond Slytherin raced after her, Madame Hooch following. The rest of them, Markus and his friends included, just stood there dumbly, watching the scene unfold without the slightest idea of how to help at all.

And then there were the bullies, who laughed and sneered as if this was all a huge joke, and not dangerous in the slightest. Markus watched Reed take Lucy’s glasses in his hands and whisper something to his friends. Conan seemed uninterested, watching everybody else the same way one would observe a sardine swimming in a tank.

Lucy’s broom zipped over to the castle wall, and she finally lost her balance. Markus couldn’t hold in the gasp that escaped his lips as he watched her free-fall twenty feet through the air, landing with a heavy thud on the ground. She didn’t move, merely a mess of robes hidden by the long grass.

“Oh my god.” Simon whispered. His eyes were wide with worry. “Is she okay?”

North had been one of the other girls who’d followed Lucy to try and help her, and was now heading back over, a dumbfounded look on her face.

“She broke her arm.” North informed Markus and Simon at their inquisitive looks. She shuddered. “The bone was sticking out and everything.”

Madame Hooch scooped up a whimpering, crying Lucy in her arms and turned to the rest of the class.

“I am taking this girl to the hospital wing.” Hooch told them sternly. “If anybody is seen on their brooms in the air while I am gone, it’s an immediate detention and suspension from flying activities for the rest of the year.”

The class chorused an affirmation, and watched in silence as their instructor carried Lucy back into the castle.

Josh and Daniel returned to Markus’ side.

“And _that,_ my friends, is why I don’t fly.” Josh announced as he flounced over. His dark eyes were filled with horror and slight repulse. “Did you see the way she just _fell?_ It’s dangerous!”

Daniel rolled his eyes, but he also seemed to have been affected by what happened, as his voice wasn’t as boisterous as usual, “that was, like, a one in a thousand chance, though.”

A bought of laughter interrupted them. Markus turned around to see Reed bending the arms of Lucy’s glasses in a dangerous way, eyes glittering malevolently. Next to him, Conan was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Reed work in disinterest.

The other Slytherins, Tina Chen and the like, egged Gavin on with mean chuckles.

“How far d’you reckon I could throw these from my broom?” Reed voiced aloud, sneering. “Stern? You’re smart; tell me what you think.”

“I think they’d break as soon as they hit the ground, Reed,” Conan said coldly. His grey eyes flashed as he shot a look at Markus, betraying malice and contempt, “but they belong to a mudblood, so I don’t see why experimenting would be so bad. Why don’t you test my hypothesis?”

Reed grinned.

“Don’t try it, snake.” Daniel snapped. He stepped forwards threateningly. Behind him, North glared at the Slytherins with murder in her eyes. “Those don’t belong to you.”

“Don’t belong to you, neither.” Reed sneered back. “You halfbreeds don’t have any business talking to us.”

“Shut it, Reed.” North spat. “Nobody cares about you and your slimy gang of sewer-dwellers.”

“Don’t you dare speak again, filth.” Conan barked, eyes flashing. “You may have gotten away with trying to corrupt my dear brother, but I will not tolerate you talking to your _superiors_ as though your opinions matter.”

“You little—”

Simon shook his head and pulled North back as she advanced, telling her to stop in a hushed mumble. Josh sighed and brought a hand to his head in exasperation.

“Well, then,” Reed said, eyes glittering mischievously. He picked up a broom from the ground, weighing it between the glasses in his other hand. “I guess I have to test Stern’s theory. It’d be wrong not to.”

Daniel snarled and leapt forward to catch Reed’s arm, but he was too late. The crooked-nosed Slytherin launched himself in the air with an easy kick of his legs, cackling madly as he avoided Daniel’s clawed hand.

“Suck it, halfbreed!”

Conan leaned closer to Markus, face cold and expressionless.

“Connor doesn’t need to know.” He hissed, low enough that only Markus could hear. A threat rang clear to his words. Anger pulsed, quick and fiery, through Markus’ body.

He shouldered past Conan without a word, eyes fixed on the sleek, brown broom lying abandoned in the grass.

“Markus, what are you doing?” Simon cried, eyes wide. “Markus?”

Markus closed his hand around the handle of the broom, positioning it under his body as he prepared to launch himself off the ground.

He felt Josh’s hand on his shoulder. “This is a bad idea, mate. Remember what Hooch said? No flying for the rest of the year!”

Markus nodded. “I know.”

He pushed off, feeling the broom jolt underneath him as he was lifted off of the ground. A strange feeling of vertigo hit him as he streamed towards where Reed was throwing Lucy’s glasses from one hand to another, smirking wickedly.

The rest of their classmates were watching. The Slytherins cheering for Reed and the Gryffindors staring in wonder as Markus raced after him.

It was an odd sensation, being in the air like this. Markus didn’t have time to dwell on the sense of utter ecstasy that it brought him, but he knew it was better than anything he’d ever done before. His heart raced in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins as a feeling of weightlessness descended on him, pushing him faster, harder.

“Put the glasses down, Reed!” Markus yelled. The wind was making it hard to hear properly.

“No way, mudblood!” Reed yelled back. “You can’t stop me!”

Markus willed his broom to move faster, trying his best to ignore the fact that he was so high in the air. The absence of ground beneath his feet was freaking him out, but he focused on the fact that Reed would probably get away with what he was doing and it made any semblance of fear disappear, replaced by anger and injustice.

“Markus! Leave it!” Josh was yelling.

“Get him!” North and Daniel were screaming, drowning out Josh’s nervous discouragement.

Reed sped up, spinning around and streaming towards the castle’s wall. Markus followed head-on, not slowing down as he spun at a ninety-degree angle to narrowly avoid splattering himself on the grey stone of the exterior wall. He was evidently faster than Gavin, gaining on him as he chased the other wizard higher into the air.

Markus pressed on, hands clutching the broom until his knuckles went white. He ignored the jeers from the Slytherins, but allowed the cheers from his fellow Gryffindors to egg him on, pushing himself to go faster. He zipped between a few short spires that rose from the edge of the outer wall, relishing the feeling of wind whipping past him as he cut through the air like a bird of prey, searching for his next target.

He had to halt suddenly as Reed stopped, mid-air. He turned to face Markus, the same malicious look in his eyes that Markus knew all too well.

“You really want ‘em so bad, mudblood?” Gavin taunted, waving Lucy’s glasses in the air. They dangled from his fingers dangerously, threatening to fall to the ground below at any moment.

“Reed, don’t.” Markus hissed. “This is stupid.”

“That’s what makes it fun!” Reed’s voice held an infuriatingly fake pout. His gaze was alight with something that could only be described as wickedness. “But fine, if you really want them so bad, you can have them.”

He casually flung the glasses over his shoulder, cackling like a madman as he watched Markus staring after them.

Markus kicked into full-gear in under a second. He made a sharp nosedive, ignoring Reed’s gape of surprise, eyes fixed on the black, thick rim of the glasses as he sought after them.

Wind whistled in his ears, and if he’d had hair longer than a buzzcut, he knew it would be streaming behind him like a tail. He clutched the broom in one hand as he stretched out the opposite arm, fingers outstretched.

He heard the other Gryffindors cheering, drowning out the booing of the Slytherins. Simon’s voice, particularly, was audible over the rest. Markus allowed a small smile to himself, but remained focused on his objective.

_Just a little bit closer._

The ground was rapidly growing closer as he sped up, but he wasn’t even afraid. He was felt…so sure of himself, as if this was a natural instinct that had kicked into gear. He knew exactly how to manoeuvre out of certain death, if worst came to worst, and he knew how quickly he was going to reach the ground, at the speed he was going.

His fingers trembled slightly, and they brushed the edge of the glasses, but the object spun out of his grip before he could grasp them. Markus bit down on his lower lip, staring intensely forwards as he snatched at thin-air.

_Come on, Markus!_

The encouraging voice in his head sounded oddly like Daniel. Markus reached out again, realising how close he was to the ground, and snagged the edge of the glasses. He clutched them in his hand, fingers wrapping around the arm as he reared up, fighting to keep control of his broomstick as he narrowly avoided colliding with the ground.

Grass skimmed the bottom of his shoes, and he skidded to an unsteady stop, tumbling onto the grass with an arm curled protectively around the object he had fought so hard to save.

For a moment, there was silence.

“ **YES!** ” Daniel—no, that was Simon, Markus realised with a smile—screamed. “Go Markus!”

“The greatest flyer of all time!” North cried, then added, “for now!”

Soon enough, Markus was pulled to his feet by about fifteen different Gryffindors, all of them cheering his name and celebrating his victory.

“ _Markus! Markus! Markus!_ ” They cheered, taking turns to pat him on the back and shake his hand. 

Even Josh reluctantly grinned at him, rolling his eyes and muttering about how dangerous it’d been.

The Slytherins were watching him. Most of them looked angry (Chen, Warren, and Reed, especially), and some of them uninterested (Conan), but there were a few begrudgingly awed looks exchanged between a couple of the less unfriendly ones.

Markus couldn’t stop the grin that had taken over his face, but was soon reminded of the consequences of his actions as he heard a familiar stern voice sound from behind him.

“Mister Manfred,” Professor McGonagall said icily, “please come with me.”

“Is Reed going to get in trouble too, Professor?” Markus asked as he was marched down one of the many hallways of the castle. It was the only thing he cared about, really. Detention for himself wasn’t that bad, and he could always try out for Quidditch the next year if he wasn’t allowed near a broom for the rest of the current year. But, if Reed wasn’t going to be punished for his bullying and stupidity, then Markus was going to have a problem. Injustice was one of the only things he didn’t tolerate.

“Mister Reed will be given detention for the next two weeks, and he has had fifty points deducted from Slytherin for his behaviour.” Professor McGonagall told him evenly.

“And me?”

McGonagall glanced at him. “That is about to be decided.”

Markus stayed silent for the rest of the walk as his head of house led him to the Defence classroom. He wondered what kind of punishment could possibly include Professor Travis. Hoping it wasn’t going to be a punishment that involved being a test subject, Markus stood quietly behind McGonagall as she knocked on the door.

The door to the classroom opened without anybody touching it. The class that had been in progress came to an abrupt halt. Markus tried to force his embarrassment at being the disruption to the back of his mind, reminding himself that he _had_ broken the ruled, despite knowing that the rules weren’t protecting Lucy’s possessions.

Professor Travis, who was holding an oversized Iguana of sorts, turned towards the open door in a jerky motion. A strange expression flitted over his sharp features for a moment, but then he was giving an awkward, twitchy smile.

“Ah! Professor McGonagall! What might you need on this fine afternoon?”

“I need to borrow Traci Ambrose for a moment,” McGonagall said. Her voice now held infinite patience, which led Markus to believe that she had dealt with Professor Travis’ uncomfortable presence many times before.

Professor Travis nodded. “Of course, of course. Miss Ambrose, if you would-“

An older Gryffindor girl with shockingly blue hair and long legs stood up, blinking in confusion at the odd call to action from her professors. Her eyes were a deep brown, face painted with a layer of expensive-looking makeup. She looked less like a witch and more like the muggle teens that Markus had seen hanging around the shopping centres in London.

Traci crossed the room and closed the door gently behind her, waving a curt goodbye to her friends with the same strained smile that Markus recognised every student gave when they weren’t sure what their fate was about to be.

“Professor McGonagall? What’s this about?” Traci asked as she trailed along with Markus. She gave him an inquisitive look, to which he could only shrug with an apologetic expression.

Professor McGonagall allowed herself a small, mischievous smile, which only worsened Markus’ confusion. He _was_ in trouble, wasn’t he?

“I believe I’ve found you a new seeker, my dear.”

… … … …

Connor had never thought that he’d find himself in a situation as incredibly dull and mind-numbing as the class that was History of Magic. He didn’t even feel guilty for thinking it, as the rest of the class seemed to agree.

Half of his classmates were asleep, and the other half seemed to be one their way to sleep. The professor, a wispy, silhouette of a ghost named Professor Binns, didn’t even seem to notice. He just droned on and on, not bothering to check if his students had even their textbooks open when he asked them to turn to the next page.

Connor rested his chin on his hands, tracing patterns in the window he was currently situated next to. Beside him, Cole had his head resting on the table’s surface, a trickle of drool slowly making its way over his lip.

“Now, 1654 was an important year for wizarding kind—” The professor’s monotone voice droned. Connor sighed softly, preferring to listen to his own inner turmoil than have to hear another word out of the ghost’s mouth.

Was he upset about his situation? Yes. Did he understand what the problem was? Yes. Did he know what to do about it? Not at all. Was that the worst part of it all? Most definitely.

For the past four days, Hank Anderson’s threat and Conan’s words of encouragement had clashed loudly in his head. Connor still wasn’t sure if his brother really was okay with him speaking to the halfbreeds and mudbloods. He wasn’t even sure how _he_ felt about it, in all honesty.

He’d been raised to despise what he was doing, and that made itself clear in the nightmares he kept having. He knew what _Amanda_ would say about all this. She’d say he was a failure, and he needed to be retrained in everything he knew. That much was obvious, what with the little voice in the back of his head that kept reminding him.

But Conan had told him it was okay to continue being friends with Cole. He said it was a safety blanket, and a valuable source of information. Connor understood that logic. He knew what Conan wanted him to do, and he wasn’t against it, but it was hard to even think about it with the clashing thoughts and ideals that kept spinning through his head in an endless loop of confusion and frustration. Still, Conan told him it was okay, and Conan’s opinion was second to Amanda’s, in his eyes. That should count for _something,_ right?

Right.

Except that it didn’t.

It didn’t, because of _Hank._

The petrifying fear that had overwhelmed Connor when Hank had threatened him stayed in the front of his mind. The words Hank had spoken played on repeat until all meaning was lost, but all threatening undertones stayed with him. It stopped him from being able to focus on anything other than Hank’s angry gaze, his sharp words that rang in Connor’s head and drowned him in dilemma.

_Don’t go near Cole. Leave Cole alone. Cole’s not your friend. He’s just an asset._

Connor knew what the older wizard said was true, that he would eventually exhaust all information he could mine from Cole and leave him. He also knew it didn’t matter what Hank said, because Hank was a halfbreed himself, and that meant his feelings meant nothing, his opinions meant nothing.

Except that they did.

Connor groaned, putting his head in his hands. It was all giving him a headache.

Along with all of his turmoil, the anticipation of what was going to happen in approximately six hours kept him on his toes. Conan’s plan was to sneak into the Owlery, burn Connor’s letter, and add his name to Conan’s own without being found out. Easy enough to do, especially since they’d both had practice with sneaking around. Still, it was…it was, quite frankly, terrifying.

Connor would have much preferred it if Conan had decided to do it alone, like he knew he could. But no, Conan told him to join him, and so Connor was going to join him. Sometimes, he really didn’t like that he followed Conan everywhere, followed every order without question. But then he’d see Conan’s face and he’d feel safe, so he continued to follow mindlessly wherever his brother went, despite knowing whatever he was doing was dangerous.

Sometimes, Connor thought that his twin forgot about all his fears, his anxieties. Sometimes, Connor thought that Conan saw him as a copy of himself; a confident, unafraid, perfect Slytherin. Connor wasn’t any of those things, and it ate at him whenever he was alone with his thoughts. It especially ruined him when he realised that the only way Amanda wouldn’t know he was a failure was if he did everything _perfectly_ that coming night, and he knew he couldn’t. Being a failure and all.

Merlin, he was _doomed._

Beside him, Cole chuckled.

“Never thought I’d see you look so miserable about learning something.”

Connor blinked himself out of his thoughts and turned his head sluggishly to look at his halfbreed friend.

“I’m not.” He said. It sounded like a lie. He elaborated. “Miserable, I mean.”

Cole rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Yes you are. We’ve had History of Magic once before, and you were more asleep than me.”

Actually, their first History of Magic class had been right after Hank’s threat, which had left little of Connor’s brainpower to focus on their professor. He’d been more awake than ever before, just too busy worrying about everything. Once he’d learned how useless the class was, he’d given up on even trying. He wouldn’t tell Cole about his older brother’s threat, of course; it would only complicate things further.

“I wasn’t asleep.” Connor mumbled, truthfully. He hadn’t slept well for a week. There was a zero-percent chance of him ever getting to sleep in a class, even a class as dull as this one. His mind was constantly too preoccupied with its anxieties and its turmoil. Traitorous mind.

“Yeah, you were,” Cole turned his head, “Kara!” He hissed to the girl at his side, “Connor was totally asleep last class, right?”

Kara nodded, her short, boyish haircut bobbing with the action. She shot Connor a friendly smile, “definitely.”

Connor sighed.

“You were totally spaced out,” Kara continued, “we tried getting your attention so many times, but you were _super_ out of it. You didn’t even realise the class had ended until we told you.”

“I…was thinking, is all.” Connor said. A truth, ambiguous enough to be a lie. He had the sudden urge to hide under his desk, but he didn’t know why.

“You’re always thinking,” Cole said with a slight eyeroll. He nudged Connor’s shoulder, but there was affection behind the action, “sometimes, you just gotta get out of that fascinating head of yours and wake up. Smell the flowers, stuff like that.”

“There would be no benefit to…‘smelling the flowers’, as you put it.” Connor told him. “I’m not a florist, Cole.”

Kara giggled. Cole smiled and shook his head.

“Not with that attitude, you’re not.” Kara said, then dissolved into quiet laughter again. Connor wasn’t sure what was so funny. He wrung his hands.

“It’s okay,” Cole told him, and he relaxed slightly at the words, “I just want to make sure you’re not sad, or anything. You looked kinda unhappy.”

“I’m not…I’m not unhappy.” Connor lied. Or at least, he was pretty sure it was a lie. He’d been unhappy a moment ago, hadn’t he? It may have disappeared over the course of their short conversation, but it was still there, gnawing at his mind like a starving, rabid dog. There was muggle literature about such feelings.

“Good!” Cole chirped with a dimpled grin. “’Cause I would have done everything in my power to make you happy again, and you would have _hated_ it.”

Connor was aware that those words were a joke, but he knew it was also true.

“—Salazar Slytherin was a great wizard, a wizard who—”

Connor tuned out the professor’s words once again at the mention of Slytherin. He wasn’t ready to face those thoughts again. Not yet. Not until he needed to.

“The other day,” Cole was saying. There was a note of caution to his voice. “I saw Hank talking to you.”

Connor’s heart fell. Of course Cole would have seen it. He couldn’t tell him, could he? It would make things worse. Hank would be angry—angrier than he already was, and Cole might agree with what Hank had said. Cole might realise that Connor wasn’t a good person, that he wasn’t a proper friend, only a shell of one that was being used to find information and report back to his brother.

“He wasn’t being mean, was he? ‘Cause I know he can be kind of overprotective sometimes, and especially because you’re—you’re not somebody I, uh, usually would be encouraged to talk to. Did he say anything mean? I’ll tell him off for it.”

Connor gave a strained, unconvincing smile. “No, he—he wasn’t being mean.”

Telling Cole would only complicate things further, he was sure of it.

Cole’s eyes lit up once again. “Good!” He said, smiling, “I’m glad. Hank doesn’t seem to think I can take care of myself, most of the time, so I always try to keep my friendships secret before he can swoop in an ruin them.”

Beside him, Kara nodded. “My, um, my dad’s the same. He was worried about me coming to Hogwarts because he wouldn’t be able to keep me safe. I’m okay, though, aren’t I? I’m not friends with some evil monster who’s gonna kill me in my sleep or anything. He just worries too much about everything.”

“My mother didn’t want me to come here.” Connor said, wary that he was crossing some invisible line. It was the topic of conversation, wasn’t it? “She was—she was the same. She’s very protective of my brother and I, and she thought going to Hogwarts was dangerous for us.”

Cole smiled at both of them, “but it’s not dangerous, is it?” He flung his arms around their shoulders and pulled them both into a weird, sideways, three-way hug. “We’re all friends, and we’re all safe! Hank is mean sometimes, and your parents worry about nothing. There’s a bunch of cool people we’ve already met, like Markus and Simon, Daniel, North, Josh, all of them! It’s awesome here; much better than being at home all the time!”

Kara nodded, and Connor murmured an affirmation.

He had to stay silent, under his false positivity. Make Cole happy, keep him from figuring anything out, while simultaneously reporting to his brother later that night to sabotage the announcement letters.

He just had to hope he didn’t fail again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that. I like this format much better, and this chapter actually ended up a lot longer than I'd thought, but that's always a nice surprise.
> 
> A big thank you to everybody that's been supporting this story so far! Your encouraging words and kudos mean the world to me <3


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